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In  Old  New  York 


BY 


THOMAS   A.  JANVIER 

AUTHOR   OF    "THE   AZTEC   TREASURE-HOUSE " 
"THE   UNCLE  OF   AN   ANGEL "    ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


HARPER    &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 

NKVV    YORK    AND    LONDON 

I()00 


Copyright,  1894,  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 

All  rights  reserved. 


;:  •• „. :  : 


TO 

C.  A.  J. 


224237 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW    YORK I 

GREENWICH    VILLAGE 84 

DOWN    LOVE    LANE .  152 

LISPENARD'S    MEAPOWS .  192 

THE    BATTERY 227 

THE    DEBTORS'    PRISON ,    .       .  241 

OLD-TIME    PLEASURE-GARDENS 25 1 

NEW   AND   OLD    NEW    YORK 265 

INDEX 279 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

ALONG   THE  CANAL   IN   OLD    MANHATTAN g 

ON   THE   RIVER   FRONT 17 

THE   SURRENDER   OF   FORT   AMSTERDAM 22 

WET   DOCKS,  FOOT   OF   BROAD    STREET 2g 

ADVERTISEMENT,.   I766 38 

THE  CONFLAGRATION   IN    1 776 -51 

A    PRIVATEERSMAN   ASHORE 65 

DEPARTURE   OF   BLACK   BALL   AND    DRAMATIC    PACKETS.       .  7 1 

"ERIE,"  OCTOBER   26,   1825 77 

N.  E.  CORNER   GREENWICH    AND    TENTH    STREETS,    1892  .       .  87 

ON   THE   STEPS 91 

NO.    54   DOWNING   STREET 95 

PORTRAIT   OF    SIR    PETER    WARREN 97 

WARREN    MONUMENT,  WESTMINSTER    ABBEY IOI 

A    STAGE   IN   THE   THIRTIES IO7 

THE   WARREN   HOUSE,  GREENWICH IO9 

A   WISTARIA   WALK,  HORATIO    STREET II5 

GAY    STREET 121 

NO.  260   WEST   TENTH    STREET 125 

STATE   PRISON 127 

NO.   246   WEST   TENTH    STREET 131 

WIEHAWKEN    STREET '.       .       .       .       .  135 

NO.    135    WASHINGTON    PLACE 139 

A  WINTER   NIGHT   IN    GROVE    STREET 141 

HOME     FOR     AGED     COUPLES,     HUDSON     STREET,     OPPOSITE 

GROVE 149 


X  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 
A  CHELSEA  DOORWAY 157 

S.   W.   CORNER   OF   EIGHTH    AVENUE   AND    TWENTY  -  SECOND 

STREET l6l 

A    SIDE   GATE   IN    CHELSEA 165 

THE   MOORE   HOUSE 169 

CHELSEA    SQUARE — THE   WEST  BUILDING 1 73 

CHELSEA    SQUARE — MODERN   COLLEGE  BUILDINGS  .       .       .       .177 

CHELSEA   COTTAGES    ON   TWENTY-FOURTH   STREET       .       .       .    180 

A   TENNIS-COURT   IN    CHELSEA 1 82 

THE   CHAPEL   DOOR,    CHELSEA   SQUARE 185 

NOS.  251,  253    WEST   EIGHTEENTH    STREET l88 

PARK   AT   THE   FOOT   OF   CANAL    STREET I95 

WEST   STREET   NEAR   CANAL I99 

CAST-IRON   NEWEL 202 

WROUGHT-IRON   NEWEL 203 

LISPENARD'S   MEADOWS 205 

RICHMOND    HILL 207 

NO.  2IO  WEST  TENTH   STREET 209 

PUMP   ON   GREENWICH   STREET,  BELOW   CANAL        .      .      .      .213 

THE   LOCKSMITH'S   SIGN 2l6 

AN  OLD-TIME   KNOCKER 217 

CANAL    STREET   AND    ST.  JOHN'S   CHURCH 221 

THE   FORT   AND   BATTERY,    I75O 229 

THE  BATTERY,  l822 237 

ENTRANCE    TO   BROOKLYN    BRIDGE  AND    HALL   OF   RECORDS    247 

S.  W.  COR.  OF   EIGHTIETH    STREET   AND    NINTH    AVENUE      .    255 

NINETY-FIFTH  STREET  AND    PARK   AVENUE 259 

NINETY-SEVENTH    STREET   NEAR   PARK    AVENUE      ....    263 

PARK   AVENUE   AND    NINETY-SEVENTH    STREET 267 

WEST    OF   CENTRAL   PARK 27 1 

A   BIT  ON   THE   BOULEVARD 275 


MAPS 


1656,    VAN   DER    DONCK Frontispiece 

1664,    "THE    DUKE'S    PLAN" Facing  page    14 


1695,    NEW    YORKE 

1729,    LYNE 

1755,    MAERSCHALCK 

1 766-1 767,    RATZEN,   LARGE 

I767,    RATZEN,    SMALL 

1775,    MONTRESSOR 

I782,    HILLS      

1803,    MANGIN 

l807,    THE    COMMISSIONERS'    MAP       .       .       .       . 

PLAN    OF   THE   CHURCH    FARM 

EXTENSION   OF   THE   BATTERY    SINCE    1 783      . 


24 
36 

38 

44 

48 

144 

42 

54 

58 

40 

232 


In  Old  New  York 


THE   EVOLUTION   OF   NEW   YORK 


}HERE  was  no  element  of  permanence 
in  the  settlement  of  New  York.  The 
traders  sent  here  under  Hendrick 
Christiansen,  immediately  upon  Hud- 
son's return  to  Holland  in  1609,  naol 
no  intention  of  remaining  in  America 
beyond  the  time  that  would  pass  while  their  ships 
crossed  the  sea  and  came  again  for  the  furs  which 
meanwhile  they  were  to  secure.  Even  when  Fort 
Manhattan  was  erected — the  stockade  that  was 
built  about  the  year  1614  just  south  of  the  present 
Bowling  Green — this  structure  was  intended  only 
for  the  temporary  shelter  of  the  factors  of  the 
United  New  Netherland  Company  while  en- 
gaged with  the  Indians  in  transient  trade  ;  for  the 
life  of  this  trading  organization  specifically  was 
limited  by  its  charter  to  four  voyages,  all  to  be 
made  within  the  three  years  beginning  January  1, 
161 5.  Fort  Manhattan,  therefore,  simply  was  a 
trading-post.     If  the  Company's  charter  could  be 


2     ,     ,t     ,     ,,     ,    .cIN    OLD'  K£W   YORK 

renewed,  the  post  would  be  continued  while  it 
was  profitable;  upon  the  expiration  of  the  char- 
ter, or  when  the  post  ceased  to  be  profitable,  it 
would  be  abandoned.  That  the  temporary  set- 
tlement thus  made  might  develop,  later,  into  a 
permanent  town  was  a  matter  wholly  aside  from 
the  interests  in  view.  Leavenworth,  Denver,  a 
dozen  of  our  Western  cities,  have  been  founded 
in  precisely  the  same  fashion  within  our  own  day. 

Not  until  the  year  1621,  when  the  Dutch  West 
India  Company  came  into  existence,  were  con- 
siderate measures  taken  for  assuring  a  substantial 
colonial  life  to  the  Dutch  settlement  in  America. 
The  earlier  trading  association,  the  United  New 
Netherland  Company,  expired  by  limitation  on 
the  last  day  of  the  year  161 7;  but  its  privileges 
were  revived  and  maintained  by  annual  grant  for 
at  least  two  years;  probably  for  three.  Then  the 
larger  organization  was  formed,  with  chartered 
rights  (so  far  as  the  power  to  grant  these  lay  with 
the  States  General  of  Holland)  to  the  exclusive 
trade  of  all  the  coasts  of  both  Americas. 

Unlike  the  English  trading  companies — whose 
administration  of  their  colonial  establishments 
flowed  from  a  central  source — the  Dutch  West 
India  Company  was  in  the  nature  of  a  commer- 
cial federation.  Branches  of  the  Company  were 
established  in  the  several  cities  of  Holland;  which 

branches,  while  subject  to  the  authority  (whereof 

# 

they  themselves  were  part)  of  the  organization  as 
a  whole,  enjoyed  distinct  rights  and  privileges : 
having  assigned  to  them,  severally,  specific  ter- 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW    YORK  3 

ritories,  over  which  they  exercised  the  right  of 
government,  and  with  which  they  possessed  the 
exclusive  right  to  trade. 

In  accordance  with  this  scheme  of  arrange- 
ment, the  trading- post  on  the  island  of  Manhat- 
tan, with  its  dependent  territory — broadly  claimed 
as  extending  along  the  coast  from  the  Virginia 
Plantations  northward  to  New  England,  and  in- 
land indefinitely — became  the  portion  of  the  Am- 
sterdam branch  ;  wherefore  the  name  of  New 
Amsterdam  was  given  to  the  post,  even  as  the 
territory  already  had  received  the  name  of  New 
Netherland. 

As  a  commercial  undertaking,  the  Dutch  West 
India  Company  was  admirably  organized.  Its 
projectors  sought  to  establish  it  on  so  substantial 
a  foundation  that  its  expansion  would  not  be  sub- 
ject to  sudden  checks,  but  would  proceed  equably 
and  steadily  from  the  start.  To  meet  these  re- 
quirements, mere  trading-posts  in  foreign  coun- 
tries were  not  sufficient.  Such  temporary  estab- 
lishments were  liable  to  be  effaced  in  a  moment, 
either  by  resident  savages  or  by  visiting  savages 
afloat  out  of  Europe — for  in  that  cheerful  period 
of  the  world's  history  all  was  game  that  could  be 
captured  at  large  upon  or  on  the  borders  of  the 
ocean  sea.  For  the  security  of  the  Company, 
therefore,  it  was  necessary  that  the  New  Nether- 
land should  be  held  not  by  the  loose  tenure  of  a 
small  fort  lightly  garrisoned,  but  by  the  strong 
tenure  of  a  colonial  establishment  firmly  rooted 
in  the  soil.     With  this  accomplished,  the  attacks 


4  IN    OLD   NEW    YORK 

of  savages  of  any  sort  were  not  especially  to  be 
dreaded.  Colonists  might  be  killed  in  veiy  con- 
siderable numbers  and  still  (the  available  supply 
of  colonists  being  ample)  no  great  harm  would  be 
done  to  the  Company's  interests,  for  the  colony 
would  survive.  Therefore  it  was  that  with  the 
change  in  ownership  and  in  name  came  also  a 
change  in  the  nature  of  the  Dutch  hold  upon  this 
island.  Fort  Manhattan  had  been  an  isolated 
settlement  established  solely  for  purposes  of 
trade  ;  New  Amsterdam  was  the  nucleus  of  a  co- 
lonial  establishment,  and  was  the  seat  of  a  colo- 
nial government  which  nominally  controlled  a 
region  as  large  as  all  the  European  possessions  of 
Holland  and  the  German  states  combined. 

It  would  be  absurd,  however,  to  take  very  seri- 
ously this  government  that  was  established  in  the 
year  1623.  The  portion  of  the  American  conti- 
nent over  which  Director  Minuit  exercised  abso- 
lutely undisputed  authority  was  not  quite  the 
whole  of  the  territory  (now  enclosed  by  the  low- 
er loop  of  the  elevated  railway)  which  lies  south 
of  the  present  Battery  Place.  Within  that  micro- 
scopic principality  he  ruled ;  outside  of  it  he  only 
reigned.  That  he  was  engaged  in  the  rather 
magnificent  work  of  founding  what  was  to  be  the 
chief  city  of  the  Continent  was  far  too  monstrous 
a  thought  to  blast  its  way  to  his  imaginative 
faculty  through  the  thickness  of  his  substantial 
skull. 

Yet  Fort  Amsterdam,  begun  about  the  year 
1626  —  its   northern  wall   about   on   the    line  of 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW    YORK  5 

the  existing  row  of  houses  facing  the  Bowling 
Green  —  really  was  the  beginning  of  the  present 
city.  The  engineer  who  planned  it,  Kryn  Fred- 
erick, had  in  mind  the  creation  of  works  suffi- 
ciently large  to  shelter  in  time  of  danger  all  the 
inhabitants  of  a  considerable  town  ;  and,  when  the 
Fort  was  finished,  the  fact  that  such  a  stronghold 
existed  was  one  of  the  inducements  extended  by 
the  West  India  Company  to  secure  its  needed 
colonists:  for  these,  being  most  immediately  and 
personally  interested  in  the  matter,  could  not  be 
expected  to  contemplate  the  possibility  of  their 
own  massacre  by  savages  of  the  land  or  sea  in 
the  same  large  and  statesmanlike  manner  that 
such  accidents  of  colonial  administration  were 
regarded  by  the  Company's  directors.  The  build- 
ing of  the  Fort,  therefore,  was  the  first  step 
towards  anchoring  the  colony  firmly  to  the  soil. 
By  the  time  that  the  Fort  was  finished  the  popu- 
lation of  this  island  amounted  to  about  two  hun- 
dred souls ;  and  the  island  itself,  for  a  considera- 
tion of  $24,  had  been  bought  by  Director  Minuit 
for  the  Company :  and  so  formally  had  passed  to 
Dutch  from  Indian  hands. 

While  the  town  of  New  Amsterdam  thus  came 
into  existence  under  the  protection  of  the  guns 
of  its  Fort,  the  back  country  also  was  filling  up 
rapidly  with  settlers.  In  the  year  1629  the  de- 
cree issued  that  any  member  of  the  West  India 
Company  who,  under  certain  easy  conditions, 
should  form  a  settlement  of  not  less  than  fifty 
persons,  none  of  whom  should  be  under  fifteen 


0  IN    OLD   NEW   YORK 

years  of  age,  should  be  granted  a  tract  of  land 
fronting  sixteen  miles  upon  the  sea,  or  upon  any 
navigable  river  (or  eight  miles  when  both  shores 
of  the  river  were  occupied),  and  extending  thence 
inland  indefinitely ;  and  that  the patroons  to  whom  ' 
such  grants  of  land  should  be  made  should  exer- 
cise manorial  rights  over  their  estates.  In  accord- 
ance with  the  liberal  provisions  of  this  decree,  set-' 
tlements  quickly  were  made  on  both  sides  of  the 
Hudson  and  on  the  lands  about  the  bay;  but 
these  settlements  were  founded  in  strict  submis- 
sion to  the  capital ;  and  by  the  grant  to  the  lat- 
ter (by  the  Charter  of  Liberties  and  Exemptions, 
1629)  of  staple  rights — the  obligation  laid  upon 
all  vessels  trading  in  the  rivers  or  upon  the  coast 
to  discharge  cargo  at  the  Fort,  or,  in  lieu  thereof, 
to  pay  compensating  port  charges — the  absolute 
commercial  supremacy  of  the  capital  was  assured. 
Thus,  almost  contemporaneously  with  its  found- 
ing, the  town  of  New  Amsterdam — at  once  the 
seat  of  government  and  the  centre  of  trade — be- 
came in  a  very  small  way  what  later  it  was  des- 
tined to  be  in  a  very  large  way :  a  metropolis. 


II 

The  tangle  of  crowded  streets  below  the  Bowl- 
ing Green  testifies  even  to  the  present  day  to  the 
haphazard  fashion  in  which  the  foundations  of 
this  city  were  laid.  Each  settler,  apparently,  was 
free  to  put  his  house  where  he  pleased  ;  and  to  sur- 


THE   EVOLUTION    OF    NEW    YORK  7 

round  it  by  an  enclosure  of  any  shape  and,  within 
reason,  of  any  size.  Later,  streets  were  opened — 
for  the  most  part  by  promoting  existing  foot-paths 
and  lanes — along  the  confines  of  these  arbitrarily 
ordered  parcels  of  land.  In  this  random  fashion 
grew  up  the  town. 

Excepting  Philadelphia,  all  of  our  cities  on  the 
Atlantic  seaboard  have  started  in  the  same  care- 
less way :  in  as  marked  contrast  with  the  invari- 
ably orderly  pre-arrangement  of  the  cities  in  the 
lands  to  the  south  of  us  as  is  the  contrast  between 
the  Saxon  and  the  Latin  minds.  Yet  the  piece- 
made  city  has  to  commend  it  a  lively  personality 
to  which  the  whole-made  city  never  attains.  The 
very  defects  in  its  putting  together  give  it  the 
charm  of  individuality  ;  breathe  into  it  with  a  sub- 
tle romance  (that  to  certain  natures  is  most  strong- 
ly appealing)  somewhat  of  the  very  essence  of  the 
long-by  dead  to  whom  its  happy  unreasonableness 
is  due  ;  preserve  to  it  tangibly  the  tradition  of  the 
burning  moment  when  the  metal,  now  hardened, 
came  fluent  from  the  crucible  and  the  casting  of 
the  city  was  begun. 

Actually,  only  two  roads  were  established  when 
the  town  of  New  Amsterdam  was  founded,  and 
these  so  obviously  were  necessary  that,  practically, 
they  established  themselves.  One  of  them,  on  the 
line  of  the  present  Stone  and  Pearl  streets — the 
latter  then  the  water-front — led  from  the  Fort  to 
the  Brooklyn  ferry  at  about  the  present  Peck  Slip. 
The  other,  on  the  line  of  the  present  Broadway, 
led  northward  from  the  Fort,  past  farms  and  gar- 


8  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

dens  falling  away  toward  the  North  River,  as  far 
as  the  present  Park  Row ;  and  along  the  line  of 
that  street,  and  of  Chatham  Street,  and  of  the 
Bowery,  went  on  into  the  wilderness.  After  the 
palisade  was  erected,  this  road  was  known  as  far 
as  the  city  gate  (at  Wall  Street)  as  the  Heere 
Straat,  or  High  Street;  and  beyond  the  wall  as 
the  Heere  Wegh  —  for  more  than  a  century,  the 
only  highway  that  traversed  the  island  from  end 
to  end. 

Broad  Street  and  the  Beaver's  Path  primarily 
were  not  streets  at  all.  On  the  line  of  the  first 
of  these,  with  a  roadway  on  each  side,  a  canal  ex- 
tended as  far  as  Beaver  Street ;  where  it  narrowed 
to  a  ditch  which  drained  the  swamp  that  extended 
northward  to  about  the  present  Exchange  Place. 
On  the  line  of  the  Beaver's  Path,  east  and  west 
from  the  main  ditch,  were  lateral  ditches  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  swamp.  This  system  of  sur- 
face drainage  having  converted  the  swamp  into  a 
meadow,  it  became  known  as  the  Sheep  Pasture. 
That  the  primitive  conditions  have  not  been  whol- 
ly changed  was  made  manifest  within  the  past 
three  years  by  the  very  extensive  system  of  piling 
which  was  the  necessary  preparation  to  the  erec- 
tion of  the  ten-story  building  on  the  northwest 
corner  of  Broad  and  Beaver  streets.  Down  be- 
neath the  modern  surface  the  ancient  swamp  re- 
mains to  this  present  day. 

Because  of  the  homelikeness — as  one  sat  con- 
tentedly smoking  on  one's  stoop  in  the  cool  of 
summer  evenings  —  that   there  was  in   having  a 


0  « 


•  . '     .    < 


< .  <      ,  ->    » 


ALONG   THE   CANAL   IN   OLD   MANHATTAN 


<     < 


«    c    •  «      '  '   < 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW    YORK  II 

good  strong-smelling  canal  under  one's  nose,  and 
pleasant  sight  of  round  squat  sailor-men  aboard 
of  boats  which  also  were  of  a  squat  roundness, 
Broad  Street  (then  called  the  Heere  Graft)  was  a 
favorite  dwelling-place  with  the  quality  of  that 
early  day ;  and  even  the  Beaver's  Path  —  which 
could  boast  only  a  minor,  ditchlike  smell,  that  yet 
was  fit  to  bring  tears  of  homesickness  into  one's 
eyes,  such  tender  associations  did  it  arouse — was 
well  thought  of  by  folk  of  the  humbler  sort,  to 
whom  the  smell  of  a  whole  canal  was  too  great  a 
luxury. 

Finally,  one  other  street  came  into  existence 
in  that  early  time  as  the  outgrowth  of  constrain- 
ing conditions;  this  was  the  present  Wall  Street, 
which  primitively  was  the  open  way,  known  as 
the  Cingle,  in  the  rear  of  the  city  wall.  As  to  the 
wall,  it  was  built  under  stress  of  danger  and  amidst 
great  excitement.  When  the  news  came,  March 
*3>  1653,  of  a  threatened  foray  hither  of  New- 
Englanders — a  lithe,  slippery,  aggressive  race,  for 
which  every  right-thinking  Dutchman  entertained 
a  vast  contempt,  wherein  also  was  a  dash  of  fear — 
there  was  a  prodigious  commotion  in  this  city:  of 
which  the  immediate  and  most  wonderful  mani- 

1 

festation  was  a  session  of  the  General  Council  so 
charged  with  vehement  purpose  that  it  continued 
all  day  long!  In  the  morning  the  Council  re- 
solved "  that  the  whole  body  of  citizens  shall  keep 
watch  by  night,  in  such  places  as  shall  be  desig- 
nated, the  City  Tavern  to  be  the  temporary  head- 
quarters ;  that  the  Fort  shall  be  repaired  ;   that 


12  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

some  way  must  be  devised  to  raise  money;  that 
Captain  Vischer  shall  be  requested  to  fix  his  sails, 
to  have  his  piece  loaded,  and  to  keep  his  vessel 
in  readiness ;  that,  because  the  Fort  is  not  large 
enough  to  contain  all  the  inhabitants,  it  is  deemed 
necessary  to  enclose  the  city  with  breast-works 
and  palisades."  And  then,  in  the  afternoon  of 
this  same  momentous  day — after  strenuously  din- 
ing— the  Council  prepared  a  list  for  a  forced  levy 
by  which  the  sum  of  five  thousand  guilders  was  to 
be  raised  for  purposes  of  defence.  Having  thus 
breathlessly  discharged  itself  of  so  tremendous  a 
rush  of  business,  it  is  not  surprising  that  the  Coun- 
cil held  no  sitting  on  the  ensuing  day,  but  de- 
voted itself  solely  to  recuperative  rest ;  nor  that 
it  suffered  a  whole  week  to  elapse  before  it  pre- 
pared specifications  for  the  palisades — the  erec- 
tion of  which  thereafter  proceeded  at  a  temperate 
speed. 

Fortunately  for  themselves,  the  New-England- 
ers  stayed  at  home.  Governor  Stuyvesant,  being 
a  statesman  of  parts,  doubtless  saw  to  it  that  news 
was  conveyed  across  the  Connecticut  of  the  land- 
sturm  which  arose  in  its  might  each  night  and 
made  its  headquarters  at  the  City  Tavern — whence 
it  was  ready  to  rush  forth,  armed  with  curiously 
shaped  Dutch  black  bottles,  to  pour  a  devastating 
fire  of  hot  schnapps  upon  the  foe.  Wherefore  the 
New- Englanders,  being  filled  with  a  wholesome 
dread  of  such  a  valorous  company  —  well  in  its 
cups,  and  otherwise  fuming  with  patriotic  rage — 
wisely  elected  to  give  this  city  a  wide  berth  ;  and 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW    YORK  13 

it  is  but  just  to  add  that  Dominie  Megapolensis 
claimed  some  share  in  averting  the  threatened 
direful  conflict  because  at  his  instigation  Governor 
Stuyvesant,  in  view  of  the  unhappy  state  of  af- 
fairs, appointed  the  ninth  day  of  April,  1653,  as 
a  day  of  general  fasting  and  prayer. 

As  the  wall  never  was  needed,  its  erection  ac- 
tually did  more  harm  than  good.  For  nearly  half 
a  century  its  effect  was  to  restrain  that  natural 
expansion  northward  of  the  city  which  certainly 
would  have  begun  earlier  had  it  not  been  for  the 
presence  of  this  unnecessary  barrier.  Yet  even 
without  the  wall  there  would  have  been  no  such 
quick  development  of  the  suburbs  as  character- 
izes the  growth  of  cities  in  these  modern  times. 
The  fact  must  be  remembered  that  for  a  century 
after  the  wall  was  built — that  is,  until  long  after 
it  was  demolished  —  the  inherited  tendency  to 
pack  houses  closely  together  still  was  overwhelm- 
ingly strong.  For  centuries  and  centuries  every 
European  city,  even  every  small  town,  had  been 
cramped  within  stone  corsets  until  the  desire  for 
free  breathing  almost  was  lost.  Long  after  the 
necessity  for  it  had  vanished  the  habit  of  constric- 
tion remained. 

Excepting  these  five  streets — Pearl  (including 
Stone),  Broadway,  Broad,  Beaver,  and  Wall ;  to 
which,  perhaps,  Whitehall  should  be  added,  be- 
cause that  thoroughfare  originally  was  the  open 
way  left  on  the  land  side  of  the  Fort — all  of  the 
old  streets  in  the  lower  part  of  the  city  are  the 
outcome  of  individual  need  or  whim.     The  new 


14  IN   OLD    NEW   YORK 

streets  in  this  region — South,  Front,  part  of  Wa- 
ter, Greenwich,  Washington,  and  West — are  the 
considerate  creations  of  later  times,  all  of  them 
having  been  won  from  the  water  by  filling  in  be- 
yond the  primitive  line  of  high  tide. 

Having  thus  contrived — by  the  simple  process 
of  permitting  every  man  to  make  lanes  and 
streets  according  to  the  dictates  of  his  own  fancy 
— to  lay  out  as  pretty  a  little  tangle  of  a  town  as 
could  be  found  just  then  in  all  Christendom,  and 
a  town  which  resembled  in  the  crooks  of  its- 
crookedness  (to  an  extent  that  was  altogether 
heart-moving)  the  intricate  region  just  eastward 
of  the  Botermarkt  in  the  ancient  city  after  which 
it  was  named,  the  Governor  in  Council,  about  the 
year  1653,  promulgated  a  decree  that  a  map 
should  be  made  of  New  Amsterdam  :  and  that 
the  town  should  remain  from  that  time  forward 
without  alteration. 

Doubtless  Jacques  Cortelyou,  the  official  sur- 
veyor, executed  the  first  part  of  this  decree ;  but 
very  diligent  search  in  this  country  and  in  Hol- 
land has  failed  as  yet  to  bring  to  light  the  map 
which  he  then  made.     The  most  widelv  known 

0 

early  map,  therefore,  is  "  The  Duke's  Plan  "  (as  it 
usually  is  styled),  which  represents  "  the  town  of 
Mannados  or  New  Amsterdam  as  it  was  in  Sep- 
tember, 1661,"  being  a  draft  made  in  the  year 
1664,  upon  the  capture  of  the  town  by  the  Eng- 
lish, to  be  sent  to  the  Duke  of  York.  Presum- 
ably, this  map  differs  from  Cortelyou's  map  only 
in  showing  a  few  more  houses,  in  the  substitution 


l6  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

of  English  for  Dutch  text,  and  in  its  gallant  dis- 
play of  the  English  flag.* 

The  Duke's  Plan  is  of  exceeding  interest,  in 
that  it  exhibits  the  extent  of  the  town  at  the 
moment  when  it  passed  from  Dutch  to  English 
ownership :  a  triangle  whereof  the  base  was  the 
present  Wall  Street,  and  the  sides  were  on  the 
lines  of  the  present  Water,  Front,  State,  and 
Greenwich  streets,  which  then,  approximately, 
were  the  lines  of  high  tide.  Nor  was  even  this 
small  area  closely  built  up  —  by  far  the  larger 
part  of  it  being  given  over  to  garden  plots  in 
which  fair  Dutch  cabbages  grew.  The  northern 
limit  of  the  map  is  about  the  present  Roosevelt 
Street,  where  Old  Wreck  Brook  (as  it  was  called 
later)  discharged  the  waters  of  the  Fresh  Water 
pond  into  the  East  River  across  the  region  which 
still  is  known  as  "The  Swamp."  All  told,  there 
were  but  twelve  buildings  outside  of  the  wall :  of 
which  the  most  important  were  the  storehouses 
belonging  to  Isaac  Allerton  close  by  the  "  pas- 
sageway "  to  Brooklyn — that  is  to  say,  the  pres- 
ent Peck  Slip.  Inside  the  wall  the  only  block 
built  up  solidly  was  that  between  Bridge  and 
Stone   streets  —  then    divided    by   the   Winckel 


*  The  earliest  map  of  New  York  known  to  be  in  existence  is 
that  now  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Henry  Harisse:  a  plan  of 
"  Manatus,  drawn  on  the  spot  by  Joan  Vingboons  in  1639";  to 
which  great  additional  value  is  given  by  its  marginal  legend  record- 
ing the  names  of  the  first  forty-five  householders  on  this  island. 
This  most  precious  document  was  exhibited  in  July,  1892,  in 
Paris  at  the  Columbian  exhibition  of  maps  and  globes 


ON   THE   RIVER   FRONT 


'. 


n  i 

■      • 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW  YORK  1 9 

Straat,  upon  which  stood  the  five  stone  store- 
houses of  the  Dutch  West  India  Company.  This 
was  the  business  centre  of  the  town,  because  here 
were  the  landing-places.  From  the  foot  of  Moor 
Street  (which  may  have  derived  its  name,  now 
corrupted  to  Moore,  from  the  fact  that  it  was  the 
mooring-place),  the  single  wharf  within  the  town 
limits  extended  out  a  little  beyond  the  line  of 
the  present  Water  Street.  Here,  and  also  upon 
the  banks  of  the  canal  in  the  present  Broad 
Street,  lighters  discharged  and  received  the  car- 
goes of  ships  lying  in  the  stream.  Already!  as  is 
shown  by  the  houses  dotted  along  the  East  River 
front  outside  the  wall,  the  tendency  of  the  town 
was  to  grow  towards  the  northeast ;  and  this  was 
natural,  for  the  Perel  Straat — leading  along  the 
water-side  to  the  Brooklyn  ferry — was  the  most 
travelled  thoroughfare  in  the  town. 

In  the  year  1661,  when  the  draft  was  made 
from  which  The  Duke's  Plan  was  copied,  New 
Amsterdam  was  a  town  of  about  one  thousand 
souls,  under  the  government,  organized  in  1652,  of 
a  schout,  two  burgomasters,  and  five  schepens. 
The  western  side  of  the  town,  from  the  Bowling 
Green  northward,  was  a  gentle  wilderness  of  or- 
chards and  gardens  and  green  fields.  On  the 
eastern  side  the  farthest  outlying  dwelling  was 
Wolfert  Webber's  tavern,  on  the  northern  high- 
way near  the  present  Chatham  Square — whereat 
travellers  adventuring  into  the  northern  wilds  of 
this  island  were  wont  to  pause  for  a  season  while 
they  put  up  a  prayer  or  two  for  protection,  and 


20  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

at  the  same  time  made  their  works  conform  to 
their  faith  by  taking  aboard  a  sufficient  store  of 
Dutch   courage  to  carry  them  pot -valiantly  on- 
ward until  safe  harbor  was  made  again  within  the 
Harlem  tavern's  friendly  walls.    Save  for  the  Ind- 
ian settlement  at  Sappokanican  (near  the  present 
Gansevoort  Market)  and  the  few  farm-houses  scat- 
tered along  the  highway,  all  this  region  was  desert 
of  human  life.    Annual  round-ups  were  held,  under 
the  supervision  of  the  Brand-master,  of  the  herds 
which  ran  wild  in  the  bush  country  whereof  the  be- 
ginning was  about  where  the  City  Hall  now  stands 
And    upon    the    town    rested    continually    the 
dread   of  Indian   assault.     At   any   moment    the 
hot-headed   act   of  some   angry   colonist   might 
easily  bring  on   a  war.      In  the  early  autumn  of 
1655,  when  peaches  were  ripe,  an  assault  actually 
was  made:  being  a  vengeance  against  the  whites 
because  Hendrick  Van  Dyke  had  shot  to  death 
an  Indian  woman  whom  he  found  stealing  peach- 
es in  his  orchard  (lying  just  south  of  the  present 
Rector  Street)  on  the  North  River  shore.     Fort- 
unately, warning   came    to    the    townsfolk,    and, 
crowding  their  women  and  children  into  the  Fort, 
they  were  able  to  beat   off  the  savages ;  where- 
upon the  savages,  being  the  more  eager  for  re- 
venge, fell  upon   the  settlements  about  Pavonia 
and  on  Staten  Island:  where  the  price  paid   for 
Hendrick  Van   Dyke's  peaches  was  the  wasting 
of  twenty-eight  farms,  the  bearing  away  of  one 
hundred   and    fifty  Christians  into  captivity,  and 
one  hundred  Christians  outright  slain. 


Ill 

At  eight  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  September 
8,  1664,  the  flag  of  the  Dutch  West  India  Com- 
pany fell  from  Fort  Amsterdam,  and  the  flag  of 
England  went  up  over  what  then  became  Fort 
James.  Governor  Stuyvesant — even  his  wooden 
leg  sharing  in  his  air  of  dejection — marched  dis- 
mally his  conquered  forces  out  from  the  main 
gateway,  across  the  Parade  to  the  Beaver's  Path, 
and  so  to  the  Heere  Graft,  where  boats  were  lv- 
ing  to  carry  them  to  the  ships  at  anchor  in  the 
stream.  And  at  the  same  time  the'  English 
marched  gallantly  down  Broadway — from  where 
they  had  been  waiting,  about  in  front  of  where 
Aldrich  Court  now  stands — and  Governor  Nicolls 
solemnly  took  possession  of  New  Amsterdam, 
and  of  all  the  New  Netherland,  in  the  name  of 
the  English  sovereign,  and  for  the  use  of  the 
Duke  of  York. 

This  change  of  ownership,  with  which  came 
also  a  change  of  name,  was  largely  and  immedi- 
ately beneficial  to  the  colony.  Under  the  gov- 
ernment of  the  Dutch  West  India  Company,  the 
New  Netherland  had  been  managed  not  as  a 
national  dependency,  but  as  a  commercial  venture 
which  was  expected  to  bring  in  a  handsome  re- 
turn. Much  more  than  the  revenue  necessary  to 
maintain  a  government  was  required  of  the  colo- 
nists; and  at  the  same  time  the  restrictions  im- 


THE   SURRENDER   OF    FORT   AMSTERDAM 


posed  upon  private  trade — to  the  end  that  the 
trade  of  the  Company  might  be  increased — were 
so  onerous  as  materially  to  diminish  the  earning 
power  of  the  individual,  and  so  correspondingly 
to  make  the  burden  of  taxation  the  heavier  to 
bear.  Nor  could  there  be  between  the  colonists 
and  the  Company — as  there  could  have  been  be- 
tween the  colonists  and  even  a  severe  home  gov- 
ernment— a  tie  of  loyalty.  Indeed,  the  situation 
had  become  so  strained  under  this  commercial 
despotism  that  the  inhabitants  of  New  Amster- 
dam almost  openly  sided  with  the  English  when 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW  YORK  23 

the  formal  demand  for  surrender  was  made,  and 
the  town  passed  into  British  possession  and  be- 
came New  York  without  the  striking  of  a  single 
blow. 

Virtually,  this  was  the  end  of  Dutch  ownership 
hereabouts.  Once  again,  from  July  30,  1673, 
until  November  10,  1674,  the  Dutch  were  in  pos- 
session— following  that  "clap  of  thunder  on  a  fair 
frosty  day,"  as  Sir  William  Temple  called  it,  when 
England  declared  war  against  Holland  in  the  year 
1672.  But  this  temporary  reclamation  had  no 
influence  beyond  slightly  retarding  the  great  de- 
velopment of  the  city,  and  of  all  the  colony, 
which  came  with  English  rule. 

Although  the  New  Netherland  had  been  ac- 
quired, nominally,  by  force  of  arms,  New  York  by 
no  means  was  treated  as  a  conquered  province. 
Colonel  Richard  Nicolls,  who  commanded  the 
English  military  force,  and  who  became  the  first 
English  Governor  of  the  Province,  conducted  his 
government  with  such  wise  conservatism  that 
there  was  no  shock  whatever  in  the  transition 
from  the  old  to  the  new  order  of  things,  and  the 
change  was  most  apparent  in  agreeable  ways. 
Not  until  three-fourths  of  a  year  had  passed  was 
the  city  government  re-organized,  in  accordance 
with  English  customs,  by  substituting  for  the 
schout,  burgomasters,  and  schepens,  a  sheriff, 
board  of  aldermen,  and  a  mayor;  and  even  when 
the  change  was  made  it  was  apparent  rather  than 
real,  for  most  of  the  old  officers  simply  continued 
to  carry  on  the  government  under  new  names. 


24  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

The  Governor's  Commission,  of  June  12,  1665,  by 
which  this  change  was  effected,  is  known  as  the 
Nicolls  Charter.  It  did  actually  slightly  enlarge 
the  authority  of  the  municipal  government;  but 
its  chief  importance  was  its  demonstration  of  the 
intention  of  the  English  to  treat  New  York  not 
as  a  commercial  investment,  but  as  a  colonial 
capital  entitled  to  consideration  and  respect. 

The  most  emphatic  and  the  most  far-reachingly 
beneficial  expression  of  this  fostering  policy  was 
the  passage,  in  the  year  1678,  of  what  was  styled 
the  Bolting  Act ;  in  accordance  with  the  pro- 
visions of  which  this  city  was  granted  a  monop- 
oly in  the  bolting  of  flour,  and  in  the  packing  of 
flour  and  biscuit  for  export  under  the  act.  No 
mill  outside  of  the  city  was  permitted  to  grind 
flour  for  market,  nor  was  any  person  outside  of 
the  city  permitted  to  pack  breadstuff's  in  any 
form  for  sale ;  the  result  of  which  interdict  was 
to  throw  the  export  trade  in  breadstuff's,  mainly 
with  the  West  Indies  and  already  very  consider- 
able, exclusively  into  the  hands  of  the  millers  and 
merchants  of  New  York.  Outside  of  the  city, 
and  with  justice,  this  law  was  regarded  with  ex- 
treme disfavor.  From  the  first,  strong  efforts 
were  made  by  the  country  people  to  secure  its 
repeal ;  but  the  "  pull "  of  the  city  members  in 
the  Provincial  Assembly  (the  whole  matter  has 
an  interestingly  prophetic  flavor),  was  strong 
enough  to  keep  it  in  effect  for  sixteen  years.  At 
last,  in  1694,  the  country  members  broke  away 
from  their  city  leaders  (as  has  happened  also  in 


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THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW  YORK  25 

later  times)  and  most   righteously  repealed   this 
very  one-sided  law. 

But  the  Bolting  Act  had  been  in  force  long 
enough  to  accomplish  a  result  larger  and  more 
lasting  than  its  promoters  had  contemplated,  or, 
indeed,  than  they  well  could  comprehend  :  it  had 
laid  the  foundation  of  the  foreign  commerce  of 
New  York. 

During  the  sixteen  years  that  the  act  remained 
operative  the  city  expanded,  under  the  stimulus 
of  such  extraordinary  privileges,  by  leaps  and 
bounds.  Fortunately,  an  authoritative  record 
has  been  preserved — in  the  petition  filed  by  the 
New  York  millers  and  merchants  against  the  re- 
peal of  the  act— of  precisely  what  the  city  gained 
in  this  short  space  of  time.  In  the  year  1678 
(the  petitioners  state),  the  total  number  of  houses 
in  New  York  was  384 ;  the  total  number  of  beef 
cattle  slaughtered  was  400 ;  the  sailing  craft  hail- 
ing from  the  port  consisted  of  three  ships,  seven 
boats,  and  eight  sloops;  and  the  total  annual 
revenues  of  the  city  were  less  than  £2000.  On 
the  other  hand,  in  the  year  1694  the  number  of 
houses  had  increased  to  983  ;  the  slaughter  of 
beef  cattle  (largely  for  export),  to  nearly  4000 ; 
the  sailing  craft  to  60  ships,  40  boats,  and  25 
sloops;  and  the  city  revenues  to  ^5000.  In  con- 
clusion, to  show  how  intimately  this  prodigious 
expansion  was  associated  with  the  milling  inter- 
est, the  petitioners  declared  that  more  than  600 
of  the  983  buildings  in  the  city  depended  in  one 
way  or  another  upon  the  trade  in  flour.     In  view 


26  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

of  these  facts,  very  properly  do  the  arms  of  New 
York — granted  in  the  year  1682,  in  the  midst  of 
its  first  burst  of  great  prosperity — exhibit,  along 
with  the  beaver  emblematic  of  the  city's  commer- 
cial beginning,  the  sails  of  a  windmill  and  two 
flour-barrels  as  emblems  of  the  firm  foundation 
upon  which  its  foreign  commerce  has  been  reared. 
By  comparing  the  map  of  1695  with  the 
Duke's  Plan  of  1664  the  development  of  the  city 
under  the  influence  of  the  Bolting  Act  may  be 
seen  at  a  glance.  In  1664  fully  one-third  of  the 
available  street-front  space  remained  vacant  in 
the  city  proper,  and  only  eighteen  buildings  had 
been  erected  outside  of  the  wall.  By  1695  the 
six  hundred  new  buildings  had  occupied  almost 
all  the  available  street -front  space  in  the  city 
proper,  and  had  forced  the  laying  out  of  so  large 
a  group  of  new  streets  to  the  northward  of  the 
wall  that  the  city  had  been  almost  doubled  in 
size.  In  the  annexed  district  few  houses  had 
been  erected  west  of  King  (William)  Street;  and 
the  new  streets  west  of  Broadway  possibly  had 
not  even  been  opened  —  for  the  growth  of  the 
town  still  was  toward  the  northeast.  But  the 
many  new  buildings  east  of  King  Street,  and  the 
provision  upon  so  large  a  scale  of  new  streets, 
showed  the  alert  enterprising  spirit  that  was 
abroad.  This  was,  indeed,  the  most  active  period 
in  real-estate  transactions  that  the  city  so  far  had 
known.  Prices  were  rising  prodigiously.  By  the 
year  1689  fourteen  lots  near  Coenties  Slip  were 
sold  at  auction   for  £35  each,  and  a  lot  at  the 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW  YORK  27 

foot  of  Broad  Street  actually  was  valued  at  ;£8o. 
However,  while  affected  by  the  rise  in  real-estate 
values  generally,  the  extraordinary  rise  in  prices 
hereabouts  was  due  to  the  building  at  the  foot  of 
Broad  Street  —  at  the  same  time  that  the  canal 
was  filled  in — of  the  Wet  Docks:  two  basins  of  a 
sufficient  size  to  harbor  a  whole  fleet  of  the  little 
ships  of  that  day  while  their  cargoes  were  taken 
in  or  discharged.  And  about  the  same  time,  so 
rapidly  was  the  commerce  of  the  city  increasing, 
two  new  wharves  were  built  upon  the  East  River 
front.  Finally,  in  the  midst  of  this  most  flourish- 
ing period,  New  York  received,  April  22,  1686,  the 
very  liberal  charter — known  as  the  Dongan  Char- 
ter, because  granted  through  the  Governor  of  that 
name — which  still  is  the  basis  of  our  civic  rights.* 
During  this  energetic  and  highly  formative  pe- 
riod, while  wise  and  sound  English  government 
was  doing  so  much  to  foster  the  welfare  of  the 
city,  the  English  race  distinctly  was  in  a  minority 
among  the  citizens.  This  fact  is  brought  out 
clearly  in  the  following  statement  made  by  Gov- 
ernor Dongan,  in  the  year  1687,  in  his  report  to 
the  Board  of  Trade :  "  For  the  past  seven  years 

*  The  Dongan  Charter,  granted  by  James  II.,  was  amended  by 
Queen  Anne  in  1708,  and  was  farther  enlarged  by  George  II.  in 
1  1730  into  what  is  known  as  the  Montgomery  Charter.  This  last, 
confirmed  by  the  General  Assembly  of  the  Province  in  1732, 
made  New  York  virtually  a  free  city.  The  Mayor  was  appointed 
by  the  Governor  in  Council  until  the  Revolution,  by  the  State 
Governor  and  four  members  of  the  Council  of  Appointment  until 
182 1,  by  the  Common  Council  of  the  city  until  1834,  and  since 
this  last  date  (in  theory)  by  the  people. 


28  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

there  have  not  come  over  to  this  Province  twenty 
English,  Scotch,  or  Irish  families.  On  Long  Isl- 
and the  people  increase  so  fast  that  they  com- 
plain for  want  of  land,  and  many  remove  thence 
to  the  neighboring  provinces.  Several  French 
families  have  lately  come  from  the  West  Indies 
and  from  England,  and  also  several  Dutch  fami- 
lies from  Holland,  so  that  the  number  of  foreign- 
ers greatly  exceeds  the  King's  natural  born  sub- 
jects. 

In  point  of  morals,  the  New  York  of  two  hun- 
dred years  ago  seems  to  have  been  about  on  a 
par  with  frontier  towns  and  outpost  settlements 
of  the  present  day.  About  the  time  that  Gov- 
ernor Dongan  made  his  report  to  the  Board  of 
Trade,  the  Rev.  John  Miller — for  three  years  a 
resident  of  the  colony  as  chaplain  to  the  King's 
forces — addressed  to  the  then  Bishop  of  London 
a  letter  in  which  he  reviewed  the  spiritual  short- 
comings of  the  colonists.  Mr.  Miller's  strictures 
upon  the  Dissenters,  naturally  warped  by  his  point 
of  view,  scarcely  are  to  be  quoted  in  fairness ;  but 
of  the  clergymen  of  the  Establishment,  toward 
whom  his  disposition  would  be  lenient,  he  thus 
wrote :  "  There  are  here,  and  also  in  other  prov- 
inces, many  of  them  such  as,  being  of  a  vicious 
life  and  conversation,  have  played  so  many  vile 
pranks,  and  show  such  an  ill  light,  as  have  been 
very  prejudicial  to  religion- in  general  and  to  the 
Church  of  England  in  particular."  Continuing, 
he  complains  broadly  of  "  the  great  negligence  of 
divine  things  that  is  generally  found  in  the  peo- 


»         »,.».» 


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o 


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o 

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d 

H 

w 
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THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW  YORK  31 

pie,  of  what  sect  or  sort  soever  they  pretend  to 
be."  And,  in  conclusion,  he  declares:  "  In  a  soil 
so  rank  as  this  no  marvel  if  the  Evil  One  finds  a 
ready  entertainment  for  the  seed  he  is  ready  to 
cast  in ;  and  from  a  people  so  inconstant  and  re- 
gardless of  heaven  and  holy  things  no  wonder  if 
God  withdraw  His  grace,  and  give  them  up  a  prey 
to  those  temptations  which  they  so  industriously 
seek  to  embrace." 

These  cheering  remarks  relate  to  the  Province 
at  large.  Touching  the  citizens  of  New  York  in 
particular,  the  reverend  gentleman  briefly  but  for- 
cibly describes  them  as  drunkards  and  gamblers, 
and  adds  :  "  This,  joined  to  their  profane,  atheisti- 
cal, and  scoffing  method  of  discourse,  makes  their 
company  extremely  uneasy  to  sober  and  religious 
men." 

IV 

On  the  turn  from  the  seventeenth  to  the  eigh- 
teenth century,  the  population  of  New  York  was 
about  5000  souls  :  Dutch  and  English  nearly  equal 
in  numbers ;  a  few  French,  Swedes,  and  Jews ; 
about  800  negroes,  nearly  all  of  whom  were  slaves. 
It  was  a  driving,  prosperous,  commercial  com- 
munity ;  nor  is  there  much  cause  for  wonder — in 
view  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Miller's  pointed  lament  over 
its  ungodliness  —  that  a  great  deal  of  its  pros- 
perity came  through  channels  which  now  would 
be  regarded  as  intolerably  foul.  But  in  those 
brave  days  natures  were  strong,  and  squeamish- 


32  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

ness  was  a  weakling  virtue   still   hidden  in  the 
womb  of  time. 

Slave-dealing  then  was  an  important  and  well- 
thought-of  industry  —  or,  in  the  more  elegant 
phrase  of  one  of  the  gravest  of  New  York  histo- 
rians, "  a  species  of  maritime  adventure  then  en- 
gaged in  by  several  of  our  most  respectable  mer- 
chants." The  Dutch  are  credited  with  having 
brought  the  first  cargo  of  slaves  to  the  northern 
part  of  America — from  their  possessions  on  the 
Guinea  Coast  to  the  Virginia  plantations — and  a 
regular  part  of  the  business  of  the  Dutch  West 
India  Company  was  providing  Af'ican  slaves  for 
use  in  its  American  colonic  The  profits  of  the 
business — even  allowing  for  the  bad  luck  of  a  high 
death-rate  on  the  western  passage — were  so  allur- 
ingly great  that  it  was  not  one  to  be  slighted  by 
the  eminently  go-ahead  merchants  of  this  town  ; 
and  the  fact  must  be  remembered  that,  as  a  busi- 
ness, slave-dealing  was  quite  as  legitimate  then  as 
is  the  emigrant  traffic  of  the  present  day.  Young 
Mr.  John  Cruger  has  left  on  record  a  most  edify- 
ing account  of  a  voyage  which  he  made  out  of  New 
York  in  the  years  1698- 1700,  in  the  ship  PropJict 
Daniel,  to  Madagascar  for  the  purchase  of  live 
freight ;  and  the  sentiment  of  the  community  in 
the  premises  is  exhibited  by  the  fact  that  the 
slave-dealing  Mr.  Cruger  was  elected  an  alderman 
from  the  Dock  Ward  continuously  from  the  year 
1712  until  the  year  1733,  and  that  subsequently 
he  served  four  consecutive  terms  as  mayor.  In 
addition  to  the  negro  slaves,  there  were  many  Ind- 


THE    EVOLUTION   OF   NEW   YORK  33 

ian  slaves  held  in  the  colony.  For  convenience 
in  hiring,  the  law  was  passed,  November  30,  171 1, 
that  "  all  negro  and  Indian  slaves  that  are  let  out 
to  hire  within  the  city  do  take  up  their  standing 
in  order  to  be  hired  at  the  market -house  at  the 
Wall  Street  Slip." 

Probably  the  alarm  bred  of  the  so-called  Negro 
Plot  of  1 741  was  most  effective  in  checking  the 
growth  of  slavery  in  this  city.  Certainly,  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  negroes  charged  with  fomenting 
this  problematical  conspiracy  were  dealt  with  af- 
fords food  for  curious  reflection  upon  the  social 
conditions  of  the  times.  After  a  trial  that  would 
have  been  a  farce  had  it  not  been  a  tragedy, 
Clause  was  condemned  to  be  "  broke  upon  a 
wheel  "  ;  Robin  to  be  hung  in  chains  alive,  "  and 
so  to  continue  without  any  sustenance  until  he  be 
dead  " ;  Tom  to  be  "  burned  with  a  slow  fire  un- 
til he  be  dead  and  consumed  to  ashes,"  and  so  on. 
However,  everything  depends  upon  the  point  of 
view.  In  that  strong -stomached  time  judicial 
cruelty  to  criminals  met  with  universal  approval ; 
and  as  to  slavery,  the  worshipful  Sir  Edward  Coke, 
but  a  very  few  years  earlier,  had  laid  down  the 
doctrine  that  pagans  properly  could  be  held  in 
bondage  by  Christians,  because  the  former  were 
the  bond-slaves  of  Satan,  while  the  latter  were  the 
servants  of  God. 

When  it  came  to  piracy,  public  opinion  in  New 
York  was  not  keyed  up  to  a  pitch  that  could  be 
called  severe ;  and  it  is  a  fact  that  the  founda- 
tions of  some  highly  respectable  fortunes  still  ex- 
3 


34  IN    OLD    NEW  YORK 

tant  in  this  community  were  laid  in  successful 
ventures  —  to  use  the  euphuistic  phrase  of  the 
day — "  on  the  account."  Under  the  generously 
liberal  rule  of  Governor  Fletcher  (1692-8),  any 
pirate,  or  any  New  York  merchant  taking  what  a 
Wall  Street  man  of  the  present  day  would  term 
"a  flyer"  in  piracy,  was  entirely  secure  in  his 
business  provided  he  was  willing  to  pay  a  fair 
percentage  of  its  profits  to  that  high  functionary 
(even  as  the  modern  city  contractor  is  secure  if  he 
will  "stand  in"  with  the  right  city  officials);  be- 
cause of  which  cordial  leniency  matters  here  be- 
came such  a  hissing  and  reproach  that  the  home 
government  was  compelled  to  recall  Fletcher  and 
to  send  out  in  his  place  Lord  Bellomont — who 
specifically  was  charged  with  the  duty  of  break- 
ing up  what  elegantly  was  styled  "  the  Red  Sea 
trade." 

Much  of  this  piracy  was  carried  on  under 
cover  of  privateering ;  and  from  genuine  pri- 
vateering—  which  was  held  to  be  an  entirely 
honest  and  legitimate  business — the  city  derived 

• 

a  large  amount  of  wealth.  During  almost  the 
whole  of  the  century  of  nearly  continuous  war- 
fare that  began  in  the  year  1689,  with  the  acces- 
sion of  William  of  Orange  to  the  English  throne, 
there  were  fine  chances  for  private  armed  vent- 
ures against  England's  enemies  on  the  high  seas. 
From  this  port,  most  .notably  in  the  first  and 
fourth  decades  of  the  last  century,  a  dashing  fleet 
of  privateers  went  forth ;  and  The  Weekly  Post  Boy 
of  the  later  period  blazes  with  calls  "to  all  Gentle- 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW    YORK  35 

men  Sailors,  and  others,  who  have  a  mind  to  try 
their  Fortunes  on  a  Cruizing  Voyage  against  the 
enemy,"  to  enter  on  one  or  another  of  the  private 
armed  vessels  about  to  put  to  sea.  In  addition  to 
the  many  prizes  taken  by  the  privateers,  many 
prizes  taken  by  King's  ships — about  this  time  the 
dashing  Captain  Warren  commanded  on  this  sta- 
tion— were  sent  into  New  York  to  be  condemned; 
and  it  is  not  impossible  that  these  last  netted  al- 
most as  much  to  the  ingenuous  merchants  who 
had  the  handling  of  them  as  did  the  out-and-out 
captures  on  private  account. 

And  ail  the  while  that  money  thus  easily  was 
coming  in  over  the  bar  at  Sandy  Hook  with  al- 
most every  tide,  substantial  business  interests  of 
a  quieter  sort,  yet  in  the  long-run  more  solidly 
profitable,  were  in  the  course  of  development. 
Especially  did  the  West  India  trade — so  firmly 
established  by  the  Bolting  Act  that  the  repeal  of 
that  act  did  not  do  it  any  lasting  injury — become 
constantly  of  increasing  importance.  It  did  not, 
of  course,  bring  in  the  great  profits  which  came 
from  it  while  the  city  held  the  monopoly  of  mill- 
ing ;  but  it  was  conducted  so  intelligently — pro- 
visions shipped  hence  being  exchanged  for  West 
Indian  products;  these  in  turn  being  shipped  to 
England  and  exchanged  for  manufactured  goods 
and  wares ;  and  these  last  being  brought  to  this 
city  for  sale  or  trade — that  each  round  of  trans- 
actions left  three  profits  in  the  merchants'  hands. 
At  the  same  time  a  considerable  coastwise  trade 
was  maintained  ;  and  a  large  business  was  done  in 


4* 


36  IN    OLD    NEW  YORK 

ship-building — ships  even  being  built  in  this  city 
to  be  sent  to  England  for  sale. 

According  to  figures  preserved  in  the  chance 
letter  of  a  German  traveller,  Professor  Kalm,  211 
vessels  entered  and  222  vessels  cleared  from  this 
port  between  December  1, 1729,  and  December  5, 
1730.  By  the  year  1732  the  population  of  the 
city  had  increased  to  8624  souls  ;  and  in  this  same 
year  the  advance  in  the  value  of  real  estate  was 
made  manifest  by  the  sale  of  seven  lots  on  White- 
hall Street  at  prices  varying  from  £  150  to  £200. 

The  extent  of  New  York  at  the  end  of  the 
first  quarter  of  the  eighteenth  century  is  shown 
by  the  map  drawn  by  James  Lyne  from  a  survey 
made  in  the  year  1729;  and  the  fact  which  this 
map  most  strongly  emphasizes  is  the  continued 
growth  of  the  city  northeastward  and  the  con- 
tinued unimportance  of  Broadway.  At  that  pe- 
riod several  causes  were  united  to  discourage  the 
development  of  the  western  side  of  the  island 
and  to  encourage  the  development  of  the  eastern 
side :  as  has  been  the  case  again  in  our  own 
times,  when  we  have  seen  the  most  desirable 
part  of  New  York — the  Riverside  region  north 
of  Seventy-second  Street — suddenly  spring  into 
popular  favor  after  years  of  entire  neglect.  At 
the  beginning  of  the  last  century  practically  all 
the  business  interests  of  the  city  were  centred 
on  or  near  the  East  River  front.  Here,  from  the 
docks  at  Whitehall  Street  northward  to  Roose- 
velt's wharf,  all  the  shipping  of  the  port  was  har- 
bored —  for   the   practical   reason  that   the   salt 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW    YORK  37 

water  did  not  freeze,  and  that  consequently  the 
shipping  was  safe  in  winter  from  ice;  here,  for 
the  same  reason,  were  the  yards  of  the  ship-build- 
ers;  here  were  the  warehouses  of  the  merchants; 
and  here,  along  Great  Queen  (Pearl)  Street — the 
street  leading  to  the  Brooklyn  ferry — all  the  con- 
siderable shops  were  situated  in  order  to  make 
sure  of  catching  the  Long  Island  trade. 

Broadway  actually  was  in  a  remote  and  ob- 
scure part  of  the  town.  Below  Crown  (Liberty) 
Street  dwelling  -  houses  had  been  erected,  of 
which  a  few  near  the  Bowling  Green  were  pro- 
digiously fine ;  but  north  of  Crown  Street  all  the 
west  side  of  Broadway  was  open  fields.  This  un- 
improved region,  beginning  at  the  present  Fulton 
Street  and  thence  extending  northward,  was  the 
Church  Farm.* 

The  farm-house  pertaining  to  this  farm — stand- 
ing very  nearly  upon  the  site  of  the  present  Astor 

*  The  estate  known  as  the  Company's  Farm,  set  aside  by  the 
Dutch  to  be  tilled  for  the  benefit  of  the  Company's  servants, 
civil  and  military,  lay  between  the  present  Fulton  and  Warren 
streets  and  Broadway  and  the  North  River.  Upon  the  English 
conquest,  this  estate  became  the  private  property  of  the  Duke  of 
York.  Subsequently,  in  the  year  1670,  by  purchase  from  heirs 
of  Annetje  Jans,  the  boundary  of  the  Duke's  Farm  was  carried 
northward  as  far  as  the  present  Charlton  Street;  possibly  as  far  as 
the  present  Christopher  Street.  When  the  Duke  of  York  ascended 
the  throne  the  property  became  known  as  the  King's  Farm  ;  and 
as  the  Queen's  Farm  upon  the  accession  of  Queen  Anne.  In  this 
last  reign,  in  the  year  1705,  reserving  a  quit- rent  of  three  shillings 
(which  was  extinguished  in  1786  by  a  payment  in  gross),  the  then 
Governor,  Lord  Cornbury,  granted  the  entire  estate  to  the  English 
Church  on  the  Island  of  New  York. 


38  IN    OLD    NEW   YORK 

House — is  shown  on  Lyne's  map,  immediately  to 
the  south  of  the  Broadway  rope-walk.  Later  it 
became  a  tavern  of  some  celebrity — the  Drovers' 
Inn,  kept  by  Adam  Vanderberg.  Undoubtedly, 
the  church  ownership  of  this  large  parcel  of  land 
tended  to  delay  its  utilization  for  building  pur- 
poses, and  so  helped  to  retard  the  extension  of 
the  city  on  the  line  of  Broadway.  Even  in  those 
early  days  the  strongly  American  desire  to  build 
on  land  owned  in  fee  operated  against  the  use  of 
leasehold  property.     Not  until  the  need  for  the 


TO     BE      SOLD, 

AT  Vendue,  onl^iefday  the  12th  inft, 
at  the  Houfe  of  Mr  John  "Williams, 
near  Mr  Lifpenardls :  A  Leafc  from  Tri- 
nity Church,  for  Old  John's  Land,  for  ia 
Yearstocome.  q -  -u 


ADVERTISEMENT,  1766 

Church  Farm  became  pressing  was  it  taken  for 
improvement  on  the  only  terms  upon  which  it 
could  be  acquired. 

Maerschalck's  map  (1755)  shows  that  by  the 
middle  of  the  last  century  the  growth  of  the  city, 
creating  this  pressing  need,  had  warranted  the 
laying  out  of  streets  through  the  southern  por- 
tion of  the  Church  property,  and  that  five-and- 
twenty  buildings  had  been  erected  between  the 
present  Liberty  Street  and  the  palisade.  But  the 
stronger  tendency  of  growth,  it  will  be  observed, 


=3 


'Plan  of  the  Cay  of  WE  W-YOJ^K 'from  an  actual  Survey: 
'By-F.Maersc/talck,  city  Surveyor^  7/J~. 


1.  Governors  Jtouse 

2.  Secretary's Office 

3.  Custom  J{ouse 
'P&vingston  &Q>.  S.Jt. 
QtyJtall 

Byards  SugarJSouse 
Exchange 
Fish  Market 
Old  Slip  Market 
Meat  Market 
Fly  do 

12.  Burtins  do 

13.  Oswego   do. 
fU.  English,  Free  School  J  29. 
IS.  1)utch       do.     do. 


A- 
5 
6 
7 
8 
9 

10 

II 


REFERENCE 

16. 

17. 

18- 

19 

20. 

21. 

22. 

23 

24. 

25 

26. 

27. 

28. 


W&l/n.(p.StdU/o. 
TVatarDistilhouse 
Itobt Griffith,  do. 
Jn? 'Burling  do. 
Jas.llurlvng  olo. 
<Jn°Ie.ake      do 
'BenJBlagge  do. 
•Jews  'Burl  Gr<* 
'PoorJtouse 
'Powder  do 
'Block,  do. 
Gates 
WfDock. 
E.do, 


Scale  1320  to  f/s  oTaMUe 


J  AS.  S.  KEMP. 


B.  Trinity  (hurch 

C.  Old  Dutch- do 

D.  French-   do. 
£.  J\fewCDutch  do. 

F.  'Presbyt?Meet? 

G.  Quakers  do. 
H.  Baptist  do. 
J.  lutheran  Quireh 
K.  Sews  Synagogue 
L.  6"t. Georges  Qiapel 
M.  Moravian  Meets. 
N.  SVew Jutheran  d/ 


40  IN    OLD    NEW   YORK 

still  was  toward  the  northeast.  This  was,  in 
fact,  the  line  of  least  resistance.  Advance  up  the 
middle  of  the  island  was  blocked  by  the  Fresh 
Water  pond,  and  up  the  western  side  it  was  im- 
peded by  the  marshy  valley  known  as  Lispe- 
nard's  Meadows ;  through  the  midst  of  which,  on 
the  line  of  the  present  Canal  Street,  was  the  arti- 
ficial drain  from  the  Fresh  Water  to  the  North 
River.  Before  this  low-lying  region  was  reached, 
the  obstacle  caused  by  the  leaseholds  was  en- 
countered. Finally,  the  base-line  of  west -side 
development,  an  extension  of  Broadway,  was  but 
a  lane  leading  to  cow  pastures  and  stopping 
frankly,  not  far  from  the  present  Leonard  Street, 
at  a  set  of  bar^.  Not  until  the  road,  now  Green- 
wich Street,  leading  to  Greenwich  Village  was 
opened  (at  an  uncertain  date,  anterior  to  1760) 
was  there  any  thoroughfare  on  the  western  side 
of  the  island.  The  only  life  in  this  isolated  sub- 
urb, therefore,  was  that  of  its  few  inhabitants : 
who  dwelt  here  for  economy's  sake,  far  removed 
from  the  agreeable  activities  of  the  town. 

On  the  eastern  side  of  the  island  all  was  energy 
and  go.  Here  were  centred  all  the  important 
business  interests,  and  the  base-line  for  farther 
development  was  the  Boston  Post  Road — a  blithe 
and  bustling  highway,  along  which  ebbed  and 
flowed  constantly  a  strong  tide  of  travel  between 
the  city  and  its  dependent  villages  and  the  popu- 
lous region  lying  inland  from  Long  Island  Sound. 
Upon  this  highway — called  in  its  lower  reaches 
the  Bowery  Lane,  because  of  the  farms  or  bouer- 


42  IN    OLD   NEW  YORK 

ies  thereabouts — settlements  had  been  made  very 
early  in  colonial  times ;  and  by  the  third  quarter 
of  the  eighteenth  century — as  is  shown  on  Rat- 
zen's  larger  map  (1767) — there  was  an  almost 
continuous  line  of  country-seats  extending  as  far 
northward  as  the  present  Madison  Square.  At 
the  intersection  of  the  highway  with  Monument 
Lane  (of  which  lane  two  sections  survive,  in  the 
present  Astor  Place  and  Greenwich  Avenue)  was 
the  nucleus  of  a  village  ;  and  Greenwich,  to  which 
the  lane  led,  was  a  village  of  some  importance. 
In  a  word,  the  growth  of  the  city  on  this  line 
was  inevitable ;  for  here,  to  the  thrust  of  the  ex- 
panding community  was  added  the  attraction  of 
the  settlements  already  established  beyond  the 
city's  bounds. 

On  the  smaller  of  Ratzen's  maps,  also  of  1767, 
the  great  extension  of  the  city  in  the  twelve 
years  following  1755  is  strikingly  exhibited;  but 
the  scheme  of  drafting — showing  projected  streets 
as  though  they  actually  were  in  existence,  and  not 
showing  individual  houses — is  such  that  no  pre- 
cise concept  can  be  formed  of  the  actual  gain. 
Most  of  this  map  is  mere  prophecy,  of  which  the 
fulfilment  did  not  come  for  more  than  a  score 
and  a  half  of  years ;  and  the  very  best  of  its 
prophecies,  the  Great  Square,  never  was  fulfilled 
at  all.  This  liberal  project  for  establishing  a 
public  park  on  the  line  of  Grand  Street  —  in  a 
part  of  the  city  now  most  urgently  in  need  of 
precisely  such  a  breathing-space — had  its  origin 
in  a  speculative  desire  to  provide  an  agreeable 


44  IN    OLD    NEW   YORK 

spot  for  suburban  homes.  That  it  was  alive  nine 
years  later  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  the  square — 
then  called  De  Lancey  Square — appears  on  Ma- 
jor Holland's  map,  drawn  from  surveys  made  in 
1776.  But  that  was  the  last  of  it.  On  Hills  s 
map,  1782,  close  upon  the  present  line  of  Grand 
Street,  the  British  earth -works  grimly  traverse 
the  very  place  where  the  park  should  be.  In 
common  with  every  other  phase  or  promise  of 
the  city's  prosperity,  the  Great  Square  was 
ploughed  under  by  the  Revolutionary  war. 


New  York  suffered  greater  hardships  during 
the  fight  for  Independence  than  fell  to  the  lot  of 
any  other  American  city.  It  lost  more  than  half 
of  its  population  ;  it  lost  the  whole  of  its  com- 
merce ;  the  great  fire  of  1776,  followed  by  the 
fire  of  1778,  laid  a  full  fourth  of  it  in  ashes;  it 
was  occupied  by  the  enemy  uninterruptedly  from 
almost  the  beginning  of  hostilities  until  after 
peace  was  declared. 

When  the  issue  was  joined  between  the  colo- 
nies and  the  mother-country,  the  dominant  senti- 
ment here  was  that  of  loyalty.  This  was  natural. 
In  New  York,  as  in  the  Virginia  and  Carolina 
plantations,  the  early  establishment  of  large 
landed  estates  had  created  a  class  of  rich  gentle- 
folk with  whom  loyalty  was  a  logical  instinct. 
The  abstract  convictions,  as  well  as  the  material 


«  ' 


■ 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW    YORK  45 

interests,  of  this  class  were  in  favor  of  the  main- 
tenance of  royal  authority.  It  is  not  surprising, 
therefore — even  in  view  of  the  vast  stupidities  of 
administration  on  the  part  of  the  home  govern- 
ment, which  made  colonial  life  almost  unendura- 
ble—  that  many  an  honest  gentleman  of  that 
period  found  himself  awkwardly  tangled  in  the 
ethics  of  honor  while  deciding  between  his  duty 
to  his  country  and  his  duty  to  his  king.  Rather 
is  it  surprising  that  the  verdict  of  the  gentle  class 
was  given  with  so  little  reservation  for  the  patri- 
otic side.  Naturally,  also,  the  commercial  class — 
having  vested  interests  to  defend  against  the  per- 
ils incident  to  revolution — was  disposed  toward 
loyalty.  At  that  time  about  one-tenth  of  all  the 
foreign  commerce  of  the  British-American  colo- 
nies was  centred  at  this  port ;  the  trade  inward 
and  outward  was  increasing  steadily  and  largely ; 
even  though  the  colonies  in  the  end  should  be 
successful,  a  war  with  England  meant  an  imme- 
diate collapse  of  business  and  a  great  money 
loss.  And  yet;  with  all  this  daunting  loom  of 
disaster — whereof  the  foreboding  was  more  than 
justified  by  the  event — no  other  American  city 
espoused  the  cause  of  independence  with  a  blith- 
er energy  than  did  New  York. 

Until  the  actual  outbreak  of  hostilities,  the 
prosperous  expansion  of  trade  and  the  growth 
of  the  city  continued  without  interruption  ;  and 
then,  as  suddenly  as  the  coming  of  tropical  night 
— with  the  arrival  of  the  British  army  of  occupa- 
tion, September  15,  1776 — a  blight  settled  over 


46  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

everything,  and  was  not  lifted  for  more  than  sev- 
en years.  Only  four  days  after  General  Howe's 
entry  came  the  calamity  of  the  great  fire  :  which 
swept  over  the  region  between  Whitehall  and 
Broad  streets  as  far  north  as  Beaver ;  thence, 
sparing  the  western  side  of  the  Bowling  Green, 
over  both  sides  of  Broadway  to  and  including 
Trinity  Church  ;  and  thence,  sparing  the  western 
side  of  Broadway,  but  burning  down  to  the  river, 
to  and  including  the  southern  side  of  Vesey  Street 
— leaving  behind  it  a  broad  furrow  of  desolation 
three-quarters  of  a  mile  long.  Two  years  later 
another  fire  reduced  to  wreck  almost  the  whole  of 
the  block  south  of  Pearl  Street  between  Coenties 
and  Old  slips.  Through  all  the  dreary  time  of  the 
English  occupation  these  many  blocks  of  ruins  re- 
mained as  the  fire  had  left  them.  No  reason  ex- 
isted for  rebuilding  ;  and,  no  matter  how  strong 
a  reason  there  might  have  been,  no  money  for 
rebuilding  was  obtainable.  This  visible  material 
wreck  fittingly  represented  the  wreck  which  had 
overtaken  the  city's  most  vital  interests.  Trade 
with  the  interior  and  coastwise  practically  was 
cut  off ;  and,  with  the  destruction  of  these  its 
natural  feeders,  the  foreign  commerce  of  the  port 
was  dead. 

When  New  York  was  evacuated  by  the  British 
troops,  November  25,  1783,  the  condition  of  the 
city  was  miserable  to  the  last  degree.  Streets 
which  had  been  opened  and  partly  graded  before 
the  war  began  had  been  suffered  to  lapse  again 
to  idle  wastes ;  the  wharves,  to  which  for  so  long 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW    YORK 


47 


a  while  no  ships  had  come,  had  crumbled  through 
neglect ;  public  and  private  buildings,  taken  pos- 
session of  by  the  military  and  used  as  barracks, 
as  hospitals  and  as  prisons,  had  fallen  into  semi- 
ruin  ;  along  all  the  western  side  of  the  town  was 
the  wreck  left  by  the  fire.  In  this  dismal  period 
the  population  had  dwindled  from  upwards  of 
20,000  to  less  than  10,000  souls;  the  revenues  of 
the  city,  long  uncollected,  had  shrunk  almost 
to  the  vanishing-point;  the  machinery  of  civil 
government  had  been  practically  destroyed.  In 
a  word,  without  the  consoling  glory  of  having 
suffered  in  honorable  battle,  the  city  was  left  a 
wreck  by  war. 

The  brilliant  rapidity  with  which  New  York 
revived  from  what  seemed  to  be  its  dying  condi- 
tion affords  a  striking  proof  of  its  inherent  strong 
vitality.  Within  three  years  from  the  date  of  the 
evacuation  the  former  population  had  been  re- 
gained, and  within  five  years  more  a  farther  in- 
crease of  10,000  had  made  the  total  30,000  souls. 
Commerce,  likewise,  had  returned  to  and  then 
had  passed  its  former  highest  limit.  Public  and 
private  enterprise  once  more  had  been  fully 
aroused.  In  every  way  the  energetic  life  and  the 
material  prosperity  of  the  city  had  been  more 
than  regained. 

Before  the  Revolution,  the  filling  in  of  the 
East  River  front  had  been  carried  forward  as  far 
as  Front  Street.  Immediately  upon  the  revival 
of  commerce  this  work  was  taken  in  hand  again 
— the  more  readily  because  the  increasing  size  of 


4&  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

ships  called  for  deeper  water  at  the  wharves — 
and  South  Street  was  begun.  At  the  same  time, 
new  streets  were  laid  out  to  the  east  and  west  of 
the  Bowery ;  even  Broadway,  at  last,  began  to 
show  some  signs  of  becoming  an  important  thor- 
oughfare ;  the  streets  leading  out  of  Broadway  to 
the  North  River  were  graded,  and  some  of  them 
were  paved — but  this  region,  then  and  for  a  long 
while  afterward,  was  the  worst  quarter  of  the 
town.  What  tended,  however,  most  of  all  to 
give  to  the  city  an  air  of  fully  restored  vitality 
was  the  erection  of  new  buildings  on  the  sites  so 
long  covered  by  the  desolate  wreckage  of  the  two 
fires. 

Yet,  for  all  its  real  prosperity — indeed,  because 
of  its  prosperity — the  draggled,  transitional  New 
York  of  that  flourishing  time  must  have  been  a 
vastly  disagreeable  place  of  residence.  Not  only 
was  it  ugly  because  of  its  crudeness  and  its  harsh 
contrasts ;  it  was  a  dangerous  town  to  live  in  be- 
cause of  the  frequent  presence  of  epidemic  dis- 
ease. The  prevalence  of  small-pox — Dr.  Jenner's 
discovery  still  being  a  little  below  the  surface — 
was  not  chargeable  to  any  defect  in  the  crudely 
organized  system  for  protecting  the  public  health  ; 
yellow-fever,  however,  was  a  practically  preventa- 
ble disease  which,  partly  through  ignorance  and 
partly  through  carelessness,  was  suffered  to  work 
great  havoc  here.  When  "a  large  and  respecta- 
ble committee  of  the  citizens,  of  the  physicians, 
and  of  the  corporation,"  investigated  the  cause  of 
one  of  the  yellow-fever  epidemics,  about  this  time, 


-i    ■n  -i  -i    -» 


J.   • 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW    YORK  49 

they  reported  that  the  spread  of  the  fever  was  en- 
couraged (as  well  it  might  be  !)  by  "  deep  damp 
cellars,  sunken  yards,  unfinished  water  lots,  pub- 
lic slips  containing  filth  and  stagnant  water,  bur- 
ials in  the  city,  narrow  and  filthy  streets,  the  in- 
ducement to  intemperance  offered, by  more  than 
a  thousand  tippling-houses,  and  the  want  of  an 
adequate  supply  of  pure  and  wholesome  water." 

But  the  New-Yorkers  of  that  day — having  great 
faith  in  the  glorious  future  of  their  city,  and  be- 
ing blessed  with  strong  noses  and  stout  hearts — 
rose  superior  to  rawness  and  ugliness  and  (ex- 
cepting when  they  died  of  them)  to  pestilence- 
breeding  bad  smells.  Mangin's  map,  1803,  shows 
the  extent  to  which — under  the  stimulus  of  a  vig- 
orously reviving  commerce  and  a  rapidly  increas- 
ing population — they  were  disposed  to  discount 
their  future.  Actually,  three-fourths  of  the  im- 
pressive-looking city  plotted  on  this  map  is  pure 
prophecy  :  whereof  there  was  but  little  fulfilment 
for  near  a  score  of  years,  and  some  of  it  never 
was  fulfilled  at  all !  In  this  brave  showing  of 
projected  streets  almost  the  only  real  streets — 
above  Anthony  and  Hester — are  those  of  the  lit- 
tle group  in  the  northwest  corner,  about  the  State 
prison,  comprising  Greenwich  Village.  Brannan 
and  Bullock  streets  (the  last-named  blessedly 
changed  to  Broome,  later)  were  laid  out  ;  the 
present  Stuyvesant  Street,  Astor  Place,  and 
Greenwich  Avenue  were  in  existence  as  a  con- 
tinuous system  of  lanes ;  the  Amity  Street  of  the 

map  (not  the  existing  Amity  Street)  was  another 
4 


50  IN    OLD    NEW   YORK 

lane — of  which  a  trace  still  may  be  seen  in  the 
oblique  court  leading  off  from  the  east  side  of 
South  Fifth  Avenue  below  Third  Street  ;  and 
Greenwich  Street — from  Duane  northward — was 
in  existence  as  the  main  road  to  Greenwich,  and 
was  in  great  vogue  as  a  fashionable  drive.  All 
the  rest  of  these  fine-looking  streets  were  but  en- 
thusiastic projects  of  what  was  expected  to  be  in 
the  fulness  of  time. 

Meanwhile,  the  tendency  of  development  still 
was  along  the  eastern  side  of  the  island.  The 
seat  of  the  foreign  trade  was  the  East  River 
front ;  of  the  wholesale  domestic  trade,  on  Pearl 
and  Broad  streets  and  about  Hanover  Square  ; 
of  the  retail  trade,  on  William,  between  Fulton 
and  Wall.  Nassau  Street  and  upper  Pearl  Street 
were  places  of  fashionable  residence  ;  as  were  also 
lower  Broadway  and  the  Battery.  Upper  Broad- 
way, paved  as  far  as  Warren  Street,  no  longer 
was  looked  upon  as  remote  and  inaccessible ;  and 
people  with  exceptionally  long  heads  were  be- 
ginning, even,  to  talk  of  it  as  a  street  with  a  fut- 
ure—  being  thereto  moved,  no  doubt,  by  consid- 
eration of  its  magnificent  appearance  as  the  great 
central  thoroughfare  of  the  city  upon  Mangin's 
prophetic  plan. 

The  substantial  facts  of  this  hopeful  period  jus- 
tified a  good  deal  of  spread-eagle  prophecy.  Be- 
tween the  years  1789  and  1 801  the  duties  on  for- 
eign goods  imported  into  New  York  increased 
from  less  than  §150,000  to  more  than  $500,000; 
the  exports  increased    in  value  from  $2,500,000 


I  -    > 


• 


■': 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW    YORK  53 

to  almost  $20,000,000 ;  the  tonnage  of  American 
vessels  in  the  foreign  trade  ran  up  from  18,000  to 
146,000,  and  in  the  coasting- trade  from  below 
5000  to  above  34,000  tons.  In  the  same  period 
the  population  had  doubled  —  increasing  from 
.30,000  to  60,000  souls.  While  its  commerce  thus 
constantly  augmented,  and  while  its  borders  con- 
stantly expanded  to  accommodate  its  quickly  in- 
creasing population,  New  York  buzzed  with  the 
activity  of  a  vast  hive  of  exceptionally  enterpris- 
ing and  successful  bees. 


VI 

By  far  the  most  important  improvement  be- 
longing to  the  last  decade  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury— though  one  of  such  magnitude  that  more 
than  a  decade  of  the  nineteenth  century  had 
passed  before  it  was  completed — was  the  filling 
in  of  the  Collect,*  or  Fresh  Water  pond. 

Primitively,  a  marshy  valley  extended  across 
the  island  from  about  the  present  Roosevelt  Slip 
to  where  now  is  the  western  end  of  Canal  Street. 
Nearly  midway  in  this  valley  was  the  Collect : 
whereof  the  original  outlet  was  a  stream  flowing 
into  the  East  River  across  the  low-lying  region 
which  still  is  called  "  the  Swamp."  As  the  city 
advanced   up  the  shore  of  the   East   River,  the 

*  The  name  Collect  was  a  corruption  of  the  Dutch  Kalch-hook 
(meaning  lime-shell  point),  given  to  a  shell-covered  promontory 
above  the  pond,  and  later  transferred  to  the  pond  itself. 


54  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

Swamp  was  drained  ;  and,  before  the  Revolu- 
tion, the  radical  improvement  was  effected  of 
drawing  off  the  overflow  of  the  Collect  in  the 
other  direction — that  is  to  say,  by  a  drain  cut 
through  the  marsh,  on  the  line  of  the  present 
Canal  Street,  to  the  North  River.  But  the  pond, 
a  barrier  in  the  way  of  the  uniform  expansion  of 
the  city  northward,  still  remained. 

Three  principal  plans  for  dealing  with  the  Col- 
lect were  held  under  advisement  at  different 
times.  One  was  to  make  a  dock  of  it  by  cutting 
navigable  canals  east  and  west  to  the  rivers ;  an- 
other was  to  use  it  as  a  source  of  water  supply 
for  the  city ;  and  still  another  was  to  fill  it  in  by 
cutting  down  and  casting  into  it  the  near-by  hills. 
The  very  great  depth  of  the  pond — so  great  that 
in  early  times  it  was  reputed  to  be  bottomless — 
caused  some  delay  in  deciding  upon  the  heroic 
plan  of  filling  it  in  ;  but  eventually,  about  the 
end  of  the  last  century,  this  plan  was  adopted ; 
and  practically  was  completed  in  the  course  of 
the  ensuing  ten  years. 

A  good  deal  of  sentiment  has  been  wasted,  at 
one  time  and  another,  over  the  extinction  of  this 
little  lake.  Actually,  filling  in  the  Collect  was 
the  only  possible  thing  to  do  with  it.  To  have 
left  it  under  any  conditions — even  in  the  midst 
of  a  considerable  park  and  with  underground 
communication  with  tide-water,  which  was  one  of 
the  several  suggestions  made  in  the  premises — 
would  have  resulted  in  the  creation  of  a  fever- 
trap  altogether  intolerable  :  precisely  such  anoth- 


'     '.'   ' 


•  •  • 


•       •  »  • 

•  •  •  •    * 

•  •  •  «  * 
•  •  • 


* 


•  •   •  • 


•  ••• 


•  •  • 


•  •     •• 

•  •    •,• 

•  ••••• 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW    YORK  55 

er  abiding-place  of  malaria  and  bad  smells  as  was 
the  Basin  in  the  city  of  Providence.  But,  while 
the  filling  in  was  inevitable,  a  very  great  error 
was  committed  in  using  the  made  land  for  build- 
ing sites.  Had  this  unwholesome  region  been 
set  aside  as  a  public  park — abundantly  planted 
with  trees  which  would  have  sucked  up  the 
moisture  out  of  the  sodden  soil — the  city  would 
have  made  a  substantial  gain  on  the  double  score 
of  beauty  and  of  health. 

Before  the  drainage  of  the  Collect  was  com- 
pleted, not  only  had  the  seers  of  that  period  fore- 
seen the  modern  city,  but  a  staid  and  practical 
Commission — doing  for  New  York  precisely  what 
we  are  laughing  at  the  people  of  Chicago  for 
causing  to  be  done  for  their  city  now — had  plot- 
ted it,  as  far  north  as  155th  Street,  almost  as  it 
exists  to-day.  Indeed,  the  prophecies  of  Man- 
gin's  map  seemed  quite  sober  realities  when  com- 
pared with  the  prophecies  of  the  map  which  the 
Commissioners  produced  eight  years  later,  181 1  ; 
and  it  is  a  fact  that  some  parts  of  the  Commis- 
sioners' Plan  still  remain  unrealized,  although 
more  than  eighty  years  have  slipped  away  since 
the  Plan  was  made. 

As  is  shown  on  Mangin's  map,  the  crookedness 
of  the  lower  part  of  the  city,  south  of  the  Fresh 
Water,  was  repeated  north  of  the  Fresh  Water 
on  a  grander  scale.  In  this  new  region  the 
streets  were  straight  in  their  several  groups,  but 
the  groups  were  so  defiantly  at  variance  with 
each  other  that  wherever  their  edges  came  to- 


56  IN    OLD    NEW   YORK 

gether  there  was  a  tangle  fit  to  make  a  loadstone 
lose  its  way ;  which  picturesque  confusion  was 
due  to  the  fact  that  each  group  had  started  from 
a  separate  base — the  shore  lines  of  various  parts 
of  the  island,  different  angles  of  the  line  of  the 
Bowery,  and  the  lines  of  Broadway  and  Christo- 
pher Street  —  and  thence  had  extended  until, 
quite  at  hazard,  they  had  come  together,  but  had 
not  joined.  However,  some  part  of  this  tangle 
still  was  only  on  paper  —  many  of  the  plotted 
streets  remaining  unopened — and  therefore  could 
be  corrected  before  it  became  a  reality ;  and  all 
of  the  island  north  of  the  present  Fourteenth 
Street  practically  was  virgin  territory  which  could 
be  treated  in  whatever  way  seemed  most  condu- 
cive to  the  public  good.  These  facts  being  con- 
sidered, the  wise  conclusion  was  reached  very 
early  in  the  present  centur^  to  correct  (so  far  as 
this  was  possible)  the  then  existing  City  Plan, 
which  had  been  created  by  a  mere  patching  to- 
gether of  scattered  parts  for  the  benefit  of  pri- 
vate interests,  and  to  make  a  larger  plan  —  so 
comprehensive  that  the  growth  of  the  city  for  a 
century  or  more  would  be  provided  for — in  the 
interest  of  the  community  as  a  whole. 

To  make  this  rational  project  operative,  an  act 
of  Assembly  was  passed,  April  13,  1807,  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  provisions  of  which  Gouver- 
neur  Morris,  Simeon  De  Witt,  and  John  Ruther- 
ford were  appointed  "  Commissioners  of  Streets 
and  Roads  in  the  City  of  New  York,"  with  in- 
structions "to  lay  out  streets,  roads,  and  public 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW    YORK  57 

squares,  of  such  width  [saving  that  no  street 
should  be  less  than  fifty  feet  wide]  and  extent  as 
to  them  should  seem  most  conducive  to  the  pub- 
lic good";  to  establish  upon  the  ground  the  City 
Plan  thus  created  by  the  fixing  of  stone  posts  at 
suitable  points ;  and  to  file  maps  of  the  plan  with 
the  Secretary  of  State,  the  County  Clerk,  and 
the  Mayor ;  and  the  act  farther  provided  that 
no  compensation  could  be  had  for  buildings  de- 
stroyed by  the  opening  of  streets  when  it  should 
be  shown  that  such  buildings  had  been  erected 
after  the  maps  had  been  filed. 

The  Commissioners,  who  were  allowed  four 
years  in  which  to  prepare  their  plan  and  to  es- 
tablish it  upon  the  ground,  completed  their  work 
in  outline  within  that  period:  in  the  year  1811 
their  report  was  made  and  their  maps  were  filed 
which  created  the  city,  north  of  Houston  Street, 
excepting  in  the  matter  of  public  parks,  substan- 
tially as  it  exists  to-day.  The  work  of  exact  lo- 
cation—involving the  survey  of  all  the  streets, 
and  the  placing  of  "  1549  marble  monumental 
stones  and  98  iron  bolts,"  as  is  recorded  by  the 
minutely  accurate  Mr.  John  Randel,  Jun.,  the 
engineer  in  charge  of  the  work — was  not  com- 
pleted until  about  the  year  1821. 

Unfortunately,  the  promise  of  this  far-sighted 
undertaking  was  far  from  being  fulfilled  in  its  per- 
formance. The  magnificent  opportunity  which 
was  given  to  the  Commissioners  to  create  a 
beautiful  city  simply  was  wasted  and  thrown 
away.     Having  to  deal  with  a  region  well  wood- 


58  IN   OLD    NEW   YORK 

ed,  broken  by  hills,  and  diversified  by  water- 
courses— where  the  very  contours  of  the  land 
suggested  curving  roads,  and  its  unequal  surface 
reservations  for  beauty's  sake  alone — these  wor- 
thy men  decided  that  the  forests  should  be  cut 
away,  the  hills  levelled,  the  hollows  filled  in,  the 
streams  buried  ;  and  upon  the  flat  surface  thus 
created  they  clapped  down  a  ruler  and  complet- 
ed their  Boeotian  programme  by  creating  a  city 
in  which  all  was  right  angles  and  straight  lines. 

These  deplorable  results  were  not  reached 
lightly.  The  Commissioners,  in  their  stolid  way, 
unquestionably  gave  their  very  best  thought  to 
the  work  confided  to  their  indiscretion  ;  they 
even,  by  their  own  showing,  rose  to  the  height 
of  considering  the  claims  of  what  they  believed 
to  be  the  beautiful  before  they  decided  upon  giv- 
ing place  to  the  useful  alone.  Appended  to  their 
map  are  what  they  modestly  style  "  remarks,"  in 
the  course  of  which — after  stating  that  they  had 
"personally  reconnoitred  "  the  region  with  which 
they  were  dealing  —  they  declare  "that  one  of 
the  first  objects  which  claimed  the  attention  of 
the  Commissioners  was  the  form  and  manner  in 
which  the  business  should  be  conducted ;  that  is 
to  say,  whether  they  should  confine  themselves 
to  rectilinear  and  rectangular  streets,  or  whether 
they  should  adopt  some  of  those  supposed  im- 
provements by  circles,  ovals,  and  stars  which  cer- 
tainly embellish  a  plan,  whatever  may  be  their 
effect  as  to  convenience  and  utility.  In  consid- 
ering  that   subject  they  could  not  but  bear  in 


NCS 

'BRIDGE 


1ATE  STCHESTER 


C    O   U  IT  T  Y 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW   YORK  59 

mind  that  a  city  is  to  be  composed  principally  of 
the  habitations  of  men,  and  that  straight -sided 
and  right-angled  houses  are  the  most  cheap  to 
build  and  the  most  convenient  to  live  in.  The 
effect  of  these  plain  and  simple  reflections  was 
decisive" — that  is  to  say,  the  rectangles  and 
straight  lines  carried  the   day. 

In  regard  to  parks,  these  excellently  dull  gen- 
tlemen had  equally  common-sensible  views.  "  It 
may  be  a  matter  of  surprise,"  they  write,  "  that 
so  few  vacant  spaces  have  been  left,  and  those  so 
small,  for  the  benefit  of  fresh  air  and  consequent 
preservation  of  health.  Certainly  if  the  city  of 
New  York  was  destined  to  stand  on  the  side  of  a 
small  stream,  such  as  the  Seine  or  Thames,  a  great 
number  of  ample  places  might  be  needful.  But 
those  large  arms  of  the  sea  which  embrace  Man- 
hattan Island  render  its  situation,  in  regard  to 
health  and  pleasure,  as  well  as  to  the  conven- 
ience of  commerce,  peculiarly  felicitous.  When, 
therefore,  from  the  same  causes,  the  prices  of  land 
are  so  uncommonly  great,  it  seems  proper  to  ad- 
mit the  principles  of  economy  to  greater  influence 
than  might,  under  circumstances  of  a  different 
kind,  have  consisted  with  the  dictates  of  prudence 
and  the  sense  of  duty."  Holding  these  views  the 
Commissioners  explained  that  "  it  appears  proper, 
nevertheless,  to  select  and  set  apart  on  an  elevat- 
ed position  a  space  sufficient  for  a  large  reservoir 
when  it  shall  be  found  needful  to  furnish  the  city, 
by  means  of  aqueducts  or  by  the  aid  of  hydraulic 
machinery,  with  a  copious  supply  of  pure  and 


60  IN   OLD    NEW    YORK 

wholesome  water";  and  that  "  it  was  felt  to  be  in- 
dispensable that  a  much  larger  space  should  be  set 
apart  for  military  exercise,  as  also  to  assemble,  in 
case  of  need,  the  force  destined  to  defend  the  city  " 
— out  of  which  secondary  series  of  considerations 
came  the  really  magnificent  Parade,  extending  from 
Twenty-third  to  Thirty- fourth  Street,  and  from 
Fourth  to  Seventh  Avenue,  that  eventually  shrunk 
away  into  the  existing  Madison  Square.  The  third 
large  reservation  made  by  the  Commissioners,  the 
space  for  a  great  market,  never  got  beyond  the 
paper  plan  ;  which  is  the  more  to  be  regretted 
because  this  particular  project,  being  quite  within 
the  range  of  their  capabilities,  was  admirably  well 
conceived.  Union  Place — now  called,  very  unrea- 
sonably, Union  Square — was  a  sort  of  geographi-  • 
cal  accident,  which  in  later  times  has  suffered  a 
great  reduction  in  size.  "  This  Place,"  wrote  the 
Commissioners,  "  becomes  necessary  from  various 
considerations.  Its  central  position  requires  an 
opening  for  the  benefit  of  fresh  air;  the  union  of 
so  many  large  roads  demands  space  for  security 
and  convenience,  and  the  morsels  into  which  it 
would  be  cut  by  continuing  across  it  the  several 
streets  and  avenues  would  be  of  very  little  use  or 
value." 

The  Commissioners,  finally,  sum  up  the  result 
of  their  labors  in  these  words :  "  To  some  it  may 
be  a  matter  of  surprise  that  the  whole  island  has 
not  been  laid  out  as  a  city.  To  others  it  may  be 
a  subject  of  merriment  that  the  Commissioners 
have   provided   space   for   a   greater   population 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW   YORK  6 1 

than  is  collected  at  any  spot  on  this  side  of  China. 
They  have  in  this  respect  been  governed  by  the 
shape  of  the  ground.  It  is  not  improbable  that 
considerable  numbers  may  be  collected  at  Har- 
lem before  the  high  hills  to  the  southward  of  it 
shall  be  built  upon  as  a  city ;  and  it  is  improba- 
ble that  (for  centuries  to  come)  the  grounds  north 
of  Harlem  Flat  will  be  covered  with  houses.  To 
have  come  short  of  the  extent  laid  out  might 
therefore  have  defeated  just  expectations ;  and 
to  have  gone  further  might  have  furnished  mate- 
rials for  the  pernicious  spirit  of  speculation." 

Excepting  in  the  laying  out  of  the  city  upon 
so  large  a  scale — in  which  there  was  a  touch 
of  uncommon  sense  that  bordered  upon  imagi- 
nation— common-sense  of  the  plainest  sort  was 
the  dominant  characteristic  of  the  Commissioners' 
Plan.  Thinking  only  of  utility  and  economy, 
they  solved  their  problem — which  admitted  of  so 
magnificent  a  solution — in  the  simplest  and  dull- 
est way.  Yet  it  is  not  just  to  blame  them  per- 
sonally because  their  Plan  fell  so  far  short  of 
what  might  have  been  accomplished  by  men  of 
genius  governed  by  artistic  taste.  All  that  fairly 
can  be  said  in  the  premises  —  and  this  quite  as 
much  in  their  justification  as  to  their  reproach — 
is  that  they  were  surcharged  with  the  dulness 
and  intense  utilitarianism  of  the  people  and  the 
period  whereof  they  were  a  part.  Assuredly,  the 
work  would  have  been  done  with  more  dash  and 
spirit  a  whole  century  earlier — in  the  slave-deal- 
ing and  piratical  days  of    New  York,  when  life 


62  IN    OLD    NEW   YORK 

here  had  a  flavor  of  romance  in  it  and  was  not  a 
mere  grind  of  money-making  in  stupid  common- 
place ways. 

Even  on  the  score  of  utility,  however,  the  Com- 
missioners fell  into  one  very  grave  error,  for 
which,  the  requirements  of  the  case  being  entire- 
ly clear  and  obvious,  there  was  absolutely  no  ex- 
cuse. They  were  dealing  with  a  long  and  narrow 
island,  whereon  the  strong  pressure  of  traffic  nec- 
essarily would  be  longitudinal  always.  Yet,  in 
the  face  of  this  most  obvious  fact,  their  provision 
of  longitudinal  streets  was  one-third  less  to  the 
square  mile  than  was  their  provision  of  latitudi- 
nal streets ;  and  their  case  is  only  made  worse  by 
the  existing  proof — the  greater  width  of  the  ave- 
nues— that  they  did  dimly  recognize  the  condi- 
tions for  which  they  failed  to  provide.  The  city 
has  not  yet  expanded  to  the  point  where  the  in- 
convenience arising  from  this  blunder  has  become' 
sufficiently  marked  to  attract  attention.  It  will 
begin  to  be  felt  very  soon  after  the  building  of 
the  bridge  connecting  New  York  and  New  Jersey 
shall  have  brought  the  principal  railway  lines  of 
the  country  into  direct  connection,  on  the  left 
shore  of  the  Hudson,  with  the  principal  lines  of 
foreign  steamers,  with  the  resulting  transfer  to 
that  region  of  the  commercial  centre  of  the 
town. 


VII 

While  this  project  of  a  city,  magnificent  at 
least  in  the  matter  of  size,  was  in  course  of  elab- 
oration by  the  serious  Commissioners — in  the 
very  year,  in  fact,  in  which  they  began  their  work 
— the  actually  existing  city  of  that  period  had 
the  life  temporarily  knocked  out  of  it  by  Pres- 
ident Jefferson's  Embargo  Act :  that  curious 
weapon  of  self-offence  which  both  surprised  and 
annoyed  its  inventor  by  going  off  with  such  un- 
necessary violence  at  the  wrong  end. 

The  condition  of  New  York  while  the  deaden- 
ing effect  of  the  embargo  rested  upon  its  com- 
merce was  trist  to  the  last  degree — as  is  shown 
vividly  in  the  following  extract,  under  date  of 
April  13,  1808,  from  the  journal  of  the  exaggera- 
tive yet  shrewdly  observant  Mr.  John  Lambert: 

"  Everything  wore  a  dismal  aspect  at  New  York.  The 
embargo  had  now  continued  upwards  of  three  months, 
and  the  salutary  check  which  Congress  imagined  it  would 
have  upon  the  conduct  of  the  belligerent  powers  was  ex- 
tremely doubtful,  while  the  ruination  of  the  commerce  of 
the  United  States  appeared  certain  if  such  destructive 
measures  were  persisted  in.  Already  had  120  failures  taken 
place  among  the  merchants  and  traders,  to  the  amount 
of  more  than  $5,000,000 ;  and  there  were  above  500  ves- 
sels in  the  harbor  which  were  lying  up  useless,  and  rot- 
ting for  want  of  employment.  Thousands  of  sailors  were 
either  destitute  of  bread  wandering  about  the  country, 
or  had  entered  the  British  service.     The  merchants  had 


64  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

shut  up  their  counting-houses  and  discharged  their 
clerks ;  and  the  farmers  refrained  from  cultivating  their 
land  —  for  if  they  brought  their  produce  to  market  they 
could  not  sell  at  all,  or  were  obliged  to  dispose  of  it  for 
only  a  fourth  of  its  value." 

In  another  part  of  his  journal,  Lambert  wrote: 

"  The  amount  of  tonnage  belonging  to  the  port  of  New 
York  in  1806  was  183,671  tons,  and  the  number  of  vessels 
in  the  harbor  on  the  25th  of  December,  1807,  when  the 
embargo  took  place,  was  537.  The  moneys  collected  in 
New  York  for  the  national  Treasury,  on  the  imports  and 
tonnage,  have  for  several  years  amounted  to  one-fourth 
of  the  public  revenue.  In  1806  the  sum  collected  was 
$6,500,000,  which,  after  deducting  the  drawbacks,  left  a 
net  revenue  of  $4,500,000,  which  was  paid  into  the  Treas- 
ury of  the  United  States  as  the  proceeds  of  one  year. 
In  the  year  1808  the  whole  of  this  immense  sum  had 
vanished !" 

Fortunately,  it  had  vanished  for  only  a  little 
while.  Even  under  the  stress  of  the  Non-inter- 
course Act,  and  of  the  constantly  augmenting 
political  ferment,  the  commerce  of  New  York  re- 
vived with  such  energetic  celerity  that  by  the 
time  war  was  declared  against  England,  in  the 
year  181 2,  the  registered  tonnage  of  the  port 
amounted  to  266,548  tons — being  equal  to  that 
of  Boston  and  Philadelphia  combined,  and  nearly 
double  that  of  any  other  port  in  the  United 
States.  Under  these  circumstances,  naturally,  the 
war  bore  more  heavily  upon  New  York  than 
upon  any  other  American  city ;  indeed,  the  reim- 
position  of  the  Embargo  scarcely  would  have 
produced  here  a  more  calamitous  result. 


A    PRIVATEERSMAN    ASHORE 


r  *       «        „ 


•»  »  >     ., 


THE   EVOLUTION    OF    NEW    YORK  67 

The  one  redeeming  feature  of  the  situation,  in 
a  business  way,  was  the  chance  that  the  war  of- 
fered for  privateering.  But  even  success  in  this 
line  of  spirited  endeavor  did  not  yield  unalloyed 
happiness ;  for  privateering  had  suffered  a  de- 
cided sea-change  in  the  course  of  the  years  which 
had  passed  since  it  had  been  so  much  the  vogue 
in  these  parts.  It  is  true  that  a  good  many  pri- 
vate armed  vessels  were  fitted  out  from  this  port 
during  the  war  of  1812,  and  it  also  is  true  that — 
to  the  great  profit  of  their  owners — they  mowed 
a  fairly  broad  swath  through  the  English  mer- 
chant marine.  But  public  sentiment  did  not 
unanimously,  as  in  an  earlier  time,  indorse  this 
energetic  method  of  picking  up  a  living  on  the 
high  seas.  Indeed,  not  very  many  years  later — 
the  more  honest  view  of  the  matter,  meanwhile, 
having  increasingly  prevailed  —  one  of  our  local 
historians  wrote  of  these  very  ventures  of  181 2-1 5 
in  the  following  vigorous  terms :  "  By  this  legal- 
ized piracy  a  great  amount  of  property  belong- 
ing to  British  subjects  was  plundered  at  sea  and 
brought  into  New  York ;  where  for  a  while  the 
enriched  freebooters  glittered  in  their  ill-gotten 
splendor,  and  exerted  a  most  corrupting  influence 
upon  society !" 

But  the  enrichment  by  sea-theft,  even  to  the 
extent  of  glittering  splendor,  of  a  few  freebooting 
New-Yorkers  did  not  take  the  place  of  the  more 
moderate  enrichment  of  all  the  merchants  of  the 
city  by  legitimate  trade.  While  the  war  lasted. 
New  York  languished   miserably.     The  projects 


68  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

for  new  streets,  the  plans  for  new  buildings,  were 
abandoned.  So  far  from  increasing,  the  popula- 
tion actually  was  lessened  by  more  than  two 
thousand  between  the  years  1810  and  1813.  In 
1824  the  revenues  of  the  port  dropped  down  to 
but  little  more  than  half  a  million.  This  was  the 
low-water  mark,  and  in  the  very  next  year — peace 
having  been  concluded — the  revenues  shot  up  to 
fourteen  millions,  as  foreign  goods  were  poured 
into  the  country  to  make  good  the  long  drain. 
But  so  violent  a  revival  of  business  did  more 
harm  than  good.  The  vast  importations  glutted 
the  market,  and  for  six  years  there  was  great  un- 
certainty and  fluctuation  in  the  state  of  trade. 
Not  until  the  third  decade  of  the  century  was 
fairly  started  did  commercial  balances  adjust 
themselves  and  a  new  era  of  prosperity  begin. 

During  this  fluctuating  period  the  growth  of 
the  city  was  spasmodic;  but  by  the  year  1820 
substantial  advances  northward  had  been  made. 
The  most  important  single  piece  of  work  in  the 
scheme  of  development  was  the  completion  of 
the  deep  canal  on  the  line  of  Canal  Street ;  with 
the  consequent  effective  drainage  of  the  whole 
valley  lying  between  the  choked  Collect  and  the 
North  River,  and  the  regulation  of  the  streets, 
previously  laid  out,  on  the  reclaimed  land.  Even 
before  this  obstacle  had  been  removed,  however, 
the  city  had  passed  beyond  it.  Soon  after  the 
return  of  peace,  building  began  on  Broadway 
north  of  "  the  Meadows,"  and  also  near  Broad- 
way on  Spring  and  Broome  streets  —  being  the 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW    YORK  69 

beginning  of  the  movement  that  twenty  years  or 
so  later  was  to  make  of  this  region  a  highly  fash- 
ionable quarter  of  the  town.  Even  the  yellow 
fever  of  1822 — the  last  of  the  serious  epidemics 
of  this  disease — tended  to  accelerate  the  growth 
of  the  city  northward,  for  many  of  the  exiles  from 
the  lower  part  of  the  island  retained  their  suburb- 
an homes  after  the  fever  had  passed.  By  the 
year  1824 — in  which  year  "  more  than  1600  new 
houses  were  erected,  nearly  all  of  them  of  brick 
or  stone,"  as  is  proudly  stated  by  a  contemporary 
chronicler — the  lines  of  the  city  blocks  were  ad- 
vancing close  upon  Greenwich  Village,  and  Green- 
wich itself  was  becoming  a  populous  suburban 
ward.  At  the  same  time  a  considerable  settle- 
ment was  asserting  itself  westward  of  the  Bowery. 
Between  these  extremes  the  building  of  handsome 
villas  was  giving  a  vastly  aristocratical  air  to  the 
heretofore  desert  reaches  of  upper  Broadway;  and 
in  order  to  invite  the  farther  expansion  of  this 
fashionable  quarter  the  old  Potter's  Field  was  re- 
claimed from  a  wilderness,  and  then — with  the 
paupers  still  in  situ — was  transformed  into  the 
present  Washington  Square.  By  the  year  1820 
the  population  of  the  city  had  increased  to  123,- 
706  souls. 

VIII 

New  York's  destiny  as  a  commercial  centre  was 
settled  from  the  start  by  the  fact  that  the  city — 
therein   possessing  what  all  other  cities  on   the 


70  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

Atlantic  seaboard  lacked — had  ample  channels  of 
communication  with  the  interior  by  water. 

Without  examining  closely  a  large  map,  it  is 
not  easy  to  estimate  how  great  an  extent  of  ter- 
ritory— down  the  whole  range  of  coast  from  the 
Connecticut  to  the  Shrewsbury  River,  and  re- 
motely inland — can  be  reached  in  perfect  safety 
from  this  city  in  a  sloop  of  20  tons.  And  in  our 
days  of  railroads  it  is  even  less  easy  to  realize  that 
some  of  these  waterways  —  the  Hackensack,  for 
instance  —  ever  could  have  been  of  any  serious 
value  to  the  commerce  of  New  York.  But  be- 
fore cheap  and  speedy  means  of  land  carriage  had 
been  established  every  one  of  these  small  streams 
— down  to  those  on  which  even  a  10-ton  sloop 
would  float — was  a  channel  of  trade  which  appre- 
ciably added  to  the  revenues  of  this  town.  It 
was,  therefore,  as  the  direct  result  of  the  advan- 
tages possessed  by  New  York  as  a  centre  of  do- 
mestic distribution  that  the  city  gained  the  lead- 
ing place  in  the  foreign  trade  of  North  America 
and  acquired  a  registered  tonnage  of  more  than 
260,000  tons  by  the  beginning  of  the  war  of  18 12. 

But  not  until  after  this  war  was  ended  did  the 
business  conditions  here  justify  the  establishment 
of  regular  transatlantic  lines  with  fixed  dates  of 
sailing  —  the  famous  lines  of  Liverpool  packets, 
for  which  some  few  people  of  old-fashioned  ten- 
dencies sigh  a  little  as  they  take  passage  nowa- 
days in  a  record-breaking  "  greyhound  ":  with  the 
full  knowledge  that  that  nondescript  and  far  too 
spirited  animal  actually  is  a  frightfully  overcrowd- 


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THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW    YORK  73 

ed  and  badly  kept  summer-resort  hotel  got  away 
to  sea. 

The  pioneer  establishment  in  the  Liverpool  serv- 
ice was  the  Black  Ball  Line,  started  in  the  year 
1 817  by  Isaac  Wright  and  Son,  Francis  Thomp- 
son, Benjamin  Marshal,  and  Jeremiah  Thompson, 
with  four  large  ships — as  ships  went,  in  those  days ; 
that  is  to  say,  vessels  of  between  400  and  500  tons 
— named  the  Pacific,  Amity,  William  Thompson, 
and  James  Cropper,  with  sailing  dates  fixed  for, 
the  first  day  of  each  month  throughout  the  year. 
Four  years  later,  when  the  business  of  the  coun- 
try was  in  an  unusually  flourishing  condition,  a 
second  line,  the  Red  Star,  was  established ;  also 
with  four  ships  making  monthly  departures,  but 
sailing  on  the  24th  of  the  month.  In  the  same 
year  the  Black  Ball  Line  put  on  four  more  ves- 
sels, sailing  on  the  16th  of  the  month;  and  a  lit- 
tle later  the  Swallow-tail  Line  was  started,  with 
four  ships,  making  monthly  departures  on  the  8th. 
Thus  communication  was  established  between 
New  York  and  Liverpool  by  a  fleet  of  sixteen 
vessels,  making  from  each  end  of  the  line  weekly 
departures  the  year  round.  Later,  regular  lines 
were  established  to  London,  Havre,  Greenock,  and 
other  European  ports ;  while  the  increase  in  the 
coastwise  service  naturally  kept  pace  with  that  of 
the  foreign  trade. 

The  point  to  be  here  observed  is  that  the  week- 
ly service  to  and  from  Liverpool — significant  of  a 
very  great  commercial  pressure  for  that  period — 
was   established   before   the   natural   advantages 


74  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

possessed  by  New  York  as  a  distributing  centre 
had  received  any  artificial  improvement;  before, 
indeed,  any  improvement  at  all  had  been  effected 
beyond  the  opening  inland  from  the  various  wa- 
tercourses of  ways  more  or  less  practicable  for 
freight-wagons  and  pack-trains.  It  was,  therefore, 
the  demand  for  the  extension  of  a  great  business 
already  soundly  established  which  led  to  the  cre- 
ation of  what  frequently  has  been  styled  the  foun- 
jdation-stone  of  New  York's  commercial  suprem- 
acy—  the  Erie  Canal.  In  view  of  the  natural 
geographical  advantages  possessed  by  this  city, 
and  of  the  intelligent  fostering  of  trade  in  the 
early  times  by  the  grants  of  staple  right  and  of 
the  monopoly  of  flour,  it  seems  a  fair  inference 
that  this  so-called  foundation-stone  was  set  in 
when  the  building  had  got  up  to  about  the  third 
or  fourth  floor.  But  as  to  the  vast  importance  of 
the  canal  to  the  well-being  of  New  York — with- 
out regard  to  the  structural  period  at  which  its 
benefits  became  operative — there  can  be  no  ques- 
tion at  all.  Again  it  is  necessary  to  examine  care- 
fully a  large  map  in  order  to  arrive  at  an  adequate 
comprehension  of  what  was  done  for  this  city 
when  a  waterway  was  cut  from  the  Hudson  River 
to  the  Great  Lakes. 

This  large  project  was  not  conceived  in  its  en- 
tirety:  it  was  an  evolution.  In  the  year  1792, 
under  the  presidency  of  General  Philip  Schuyler, 
the  Western  Inland  Lock  Navigation  Company 
was  incorporated  for  the  purpose  of  opening  a 
communication    by  canal    to    Seneca    Lake    and 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW    YORK  75 

Lake  Ontario  and  of  improving  the  Mohawk 
River.  Later,  at  the  suggestion  of  Gouverneur 
Morris — who  in  this  matter  worked  for  the  welfare? 
of  the  city  with  an  intelligent  zeal  which  he  cer- 
tainly did  not  manifest  when  he  was  helping  to 
lay  it  out  as  a  checker -board — the  grander  plan 
was  taken  into  consideration  of  opening  a  canal 
from  the  Hudson  River  to  Lake  Erie.  In  the 
same  year  that  this  statesmanlike  suggestion  was 
made,  1808,  the  project  was  brought  before  the 
Assembly  by  Joshua  Forman  ;  an  appropriation 
was  granted  for  a  preliminary  survey,  and  the  sur- 
vey was  made  by  James  Geddes.  The  matter 
then  dropped  for  a  year,  but  was  revived  energet- 
ically in  March,  18 10  —  at  which  time  Senator, 
afterward  Governor,  De  Witt  Clinton  became  as- 
sociated with  it,  and  thereafter  remained  its  most 
efficient  promoter  until  the  successful  end. 

For  several  years  the  war  then  going  on  with 
England  prevented  the  prosecution  of  the  work ; 
and  even  after  this  military  matter  had  been  sat- 
isfactorily disposed  of  (it  was  rather  a  brilliant 
little  war,  so  far  as  we  were  concerned,  with  some 
beautiful  fighting  in  it)  the  disordered  finances  of 
the  country  caused  still  longer  delay.  Not  until 
April  17,  1 81 7,  was  the  whole  plan  solidified  into 
a  legislative  act — by  which  funds  were  provided 
for  the  construction  of  a  canal  363  miles  in  length, 
with  a  surface  width  of  40  feet,  a  bottom  width 
of  18  feet,  and  a  water  channel  4  feet  in  depth. 
But  when  the  start  fairly  had  been  made  the  work 
went    ahead    rapidly.     Ground  was  broken    that  ' 


76  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

same  year,  on  July  4th,  at  Rome,  on  the  middle 
section  ;  and  the  excavation  and  structural  work 
were  pushed  with  such  diligence  that  the  canal  was 
opened  for  traffic  in  but  little  more  than  eight  years. 

A  picturesque  celebration  of  "  the  wedding  of 
the  waters"  followed  the  completion  of  the  work. 
On  the  morning  of  October  26,  1825,  the  first  flo- 
tilla of  canal -boats  bound  for  the  seaboard  left 
Buffalo,  starting  at  the  signal  of  a  cannon  fired 
at  the  Erie  in -take.  This  shot  straightway  was 
echoed — guns  having  been  stationed  at  regular  in- 
tervals— down  the  whole  length  of  the  new  water- 
way, and  thence  onward  down  the  Hudson  to 
New  York  ;  where,  precisely  one  hour  and  twenty- 
five  minutes  after  the  first  gun  had  been  fired  be- 
side the  lake,  the  last  gun  was  fired  beside  the  sea. 
During  another  hour  and  twenty-five  minutes  the 
answer  from  the  ocean  to  the  inland  waters  went 
thundering  onward  into  the  northwest. 

And  then,  at  this  end  of  the  line,  the  enthusi- 
asm aroused  in  so  thrilling  a  fashion  had  a  whole 
fortnight  in  which  to  cool  while  the  boats  were 
crawling  eastward.  Yet  crawling  is  a  dull  word 
to  apply  to  what  really  was  a  triumphal  progress. 
It  would  be  more  in  harmony  with  the  oratorical 
spirit  of  the  occasion  to  say  that  the  boats  came 
eastward  on  the  crest  of  a  wave  of  popular  rejoic- 
ing: while  all  the  canal  towns  burst  forth  into 
speeches  of  glorification  by  the  lips.of  their  local 
dignitaries,  and  listened  to  like  speeches  from 
Governor  Clinton  and  Gouverneur  Morris  and  the 
other  migrant  statesmen  aboard  the  flotilla ;  while 


i  nmMiMj 


.  ■  ..        ■  ■ 


"ERIE,"   OCTOBER    26,   1825 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW    YORK  79 

flags  were  flying  everywhere  by  day  and  bonfires 
were  blazing  everywhere  by  night ;  and  while  all 
central  New  York  was  vibrant  with  the  uncon- 
trolled violence  of  countless  brass  bands. 

At  five  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  November 
4th  this  fresh- water  cyclone  completed  the  last 
stage  of  its  eventful  progress,  the  run  down  the 
Hudson  in  tow  of  the  Chancellor  Livingston,  and 
halted  off  the  State  Prison  (at  the  foot  of  the 
present  West  Tenth  Street),  while  all  the  bells 
went  off  into  joy-peals  and  there  was  a  noble  bel- 
lowing of  guns.  Off  the  State  Prison  (a  trysting- 
place  which  aroused  no  disagreeable  doubts  and 
dreads  in  the  breasts  of  the  aldermen  of  that  ear- 
lier, non-boodling  day)  the  flotilla  was  met  by  a 
deputation  of  the  civic  authorities  charged  with 
the  duty  of  "  congratulating  the  company  on  their 
arrival  from  Lake  Erie,"  and  of  conducting  them 
down  stream,  around  the  Battery,  and  up  the  East 
River  to  the  Navy-yard  ;  where  a  thunderous  offi- 
cial salute  was  fired,  and  the  officers  of  the  corpo- 
ration welcomed  the  distinguished  guests  in  form. 
And  then,  from  the  Navy-yard,  "  a  grand  proces- 
sion, consisting  of  nearly  all  the  vessels  in  port 
gayly  decked  with  colors  of  all  nations,"  went 
down  to  the  lower  bay :  where  Governor  Clinton, 
from  the  deck  of  the  United  States  schooner 
Dolphin,  about  which  all  the  other  vessels  were 
grouped  in  a  great  circle,  poured  a  libation  of  the 
fresh  water  brought  from  Lake  Erie  into  the  salt 
water  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean — and  so  typified  the 
joining  together  of  the  inland  and  the  outland  seas. 


8o  IN    OLD    NEW  YORK 

Either  in  dramatic  effect  or  in  commercial  im- 
portance, the  only  other  event  in  our  national  his- 
tory that  can  be  compared  with  this  is  the  meet- 
ing— forty-four  years  later — of  the  locomotives  at 
Promontory  Point ;  and  the  comparison  is  the 
more  seemly  because  the  building  of  the  water- 
way from  the  Hudson  to  the  lakes  was  one  of  the 
most  important  of  the  many  acts  of  preparation 
which  in  the  fulness  of  time  made  the  building  of 
the  railway  from  ocean  to  ocean  possible. 


IX 

Practically,  the  building  of  the  Erie  Canal  com- 
pleted the  material  evolution  of  New  York.  That 
is  to  say,  by  the  year  1825  the  essential  elements 
were  assembled — a  large  and  mixed  population, 
transportation  facilities  into  the  heart  of  the  con- 
tinent, a  foreign  trade  diffused  over  the  whole 
globe — which  constitute  the  New  York  of  to-day. 

This  is  far  from  saying  that  the  city  then  en- 
tered upon,  and  ever  since  has  continued  in  the 
possession  of, .unalloyed  prosperity.  Being  essen- 
tially human,  New  York  has  a  handsome  poten- 
tiality of  error  and  a  fair  average  liability  to  mis- 
fortune—  both  of  which  attributes  have  been 
manifested  repeatedly  during  the  past  threescore 
and  eight  years.  In  the  way  of  misfortunes,  for 
instance,  a  most  serious  one  came  only  ten  years 
after  the  canal  was  opened  :  "  the  great  fire  "  of 
December,  1835,  which  began   near  the    foot  of 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW    YORK  8 1 

Maiden  Lane,  burned  upwards  of  six  hundred 
buildings,  including  the  Custom-house  and  the 
Merchants'  Exchange,  and  caused  a  money  loss 
of  about  twenty  millions  of  dollars;  some  of 
which  painful  facts  may  be  seen  recorded  to  this 
day  on  a  marble  tablet  displayed  upon  the  build- 
ing No.  80  Pearl  Street.  And  in  the  way  of 
errors,  one  of  great  magnitude  was  committed  in 
this  same  fourth  decade  of  the  century — being  an 
error  in  which  the  whole  country  had  a  share — 
when  the  naive  attempt  was  made  to  create  un- 
limited credit  on  the  alchemistic  basis  of  paper 
declared  to  be  transmuted  into  gold.  The  fire 
of  1835,  with  its  vast  consumption  of  substantial 
wealth,  had  its  share  in  precipitating  the  financial 
panic  of  1836-37;  but  this  same  panic  surely  would 
have  come,  and  only  a  little  later,  even  had  there 
been  no  fire  at  all.  Unfortunately,  the  lesson  of 
1837  was  utterly  wasted,  and  so  also  have  been 
wasted  the  similar  lessons  of  later  date ;  for  the 
disposition  to  dabble  in  that  form  of  occult  chem- 
istry which  seeks  to  create  something  out  of  noth- 
ing is  so  profoundly  rooted  in  the  human  race  that 
it  needs  must  keep  on  sprouting  until  the  very  end 
of  time. 

But  while  on  broad  lines  the  material  evolution 
of  New  York  was  completed  in  1825,  the  practical 
development  of  the  existing  city  dates  from  that 
very  year.  At  that  time  the  population  num- 
bered only  166,000,  and  the  utmost  stretch  of 
fancy  could  not  carry  the  limits  of  the  city  proper 
above  Fourteenth  Street.  Since  then  the  whole 
6 


82  IN   OLD    NEW   YORK 

of  the  dwelling  portion  of  New  York — excepting 
comparatively  small  areas  on  the  east  and  west 
sides  of  the  island — has  been  created  anew;  and 
within  the  same  period  the  region  below  Four- 
teenth Street,  with  the  exceptions  noted,  has  been 
turned  over  to  business  purposes,  and  a  great  part 
of  it  has  been  rebuilt — notably  that  portion  lying 
south  of  where  once  was  the  wall — in  a  fashion 
that  would  make  the  sometime  owners  of  the  cab- 
bage patches  thereabouts  use  strong  Dutch  lan- 
guage expressive  of  awe!  In  this  period,  too, 
almost  everything  has  been  added  to  New  York 
which  distinguishes  a  city  from  an  overgrown 
town  :  an  adequate  and  wholesome  water  supply; 
an  effective  system  of  lighting ;  a  provision  of 
public  parks  so  ample  and  so  magnificently  costly 
that  'tis  fit  to  make  the  bones  of  the  economical 
Commissioners  of  1807  rattle  a  protest  in  their 
graves.  And  also — though  these  be  sore  and  deli- 
cate points  to  touch  upon  —  something  has  been 
done  towards  providing  local  transportation,  tow- 
ards properly  paving  the  streets,  and  even  towards 
keeping  the  streets  clean.  All  of  these  improve- 
ments, with  the  others  like  in  kind  but  less  in  de- 
gree which  subsequently  came  to  pass,  were  in 
embryo  in  the  year  1825  and  needed  for  their  de- 
velopment only  favoring  conditions  and  time. 

Equally  existent  in  embryo  were  the  develop- 
ments which  were  to  take  place  outside  of  New 
York,  but  which  were  to  be  the  very  corner-stones 
of  the  city's  later  prosperity :  the  land  and  sea 
transportation  service  by  steam.     The  ocean  ser- 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    NEW    YORK  83 

vice  came  naturally,  in  sequence  to  that  which  had 
been  expanded  to  great  proportions  before  the 
new  motive  power  had  been  reduced  to  practical 
working  shape.  Being  established,  the  steamship 
lines  had  only  to  grow  with  the  always  growing 
trade.  The  existing  railway  service,  which  makes 
New  York  the  seaboard  terminus  of  all  east-and- 
west  lines,  also  is  the  necessary  outgrowth  of  the 
earlier  conditions :  when  this  port  alone  provided 
ample  facilities  for  ocean  carriage  to  all  parts  of 
the  world.  Possessing  this  advantage,  the  open- 
ing of  the  Erie  Canal — a  clear  ten  years  before 
railways  began  seriously  to  modify  the  conditions 
of  trade — gave  this  city  a  hold  upon  the  business 
of  the  interior  of  the  country  that  never  after- 
wards was  lost.  And,  consequently,  when  the  rail- 
way building  began  in  good  earnest  there  was  no 
question  as  to  which  of  the  seaboard  cities  should 
be  the  objective  point  of  the  traffic  by  rail. 
Whether  the  lines  ended  nominally  at  Baltimore 
or  Philadelphia  or  Boston,  their  actual  end  —  to 
which  most  of  the  goods  for  export  must  be 
brought,  and  from  which  almost  all  foreign  goods 
must  be  received — was  New  York. 


GREENWICH   VILLAGE 


N  the  resolute  spirit  of  another 
Andorra,  the  village  of  Green- 
wich maintains  its  independ- 
ence in  the  very  midst  of  the 
city  of  New  York — submitting 
to  no  more  of  a  compromise 
in  the  matter  of  its  autonomy 
than  is  involved  in  the  Pro- 
crustean sort  of  splicing  which 
has  hitched  fast  the  extremi- 
ties of  its  tangled  streets  to  the 
most  readily  available  streets 
in  the  City  Plan.  The  flip- 
pant carelessness  with  which 
this  apparent  union  has  been 
effected  only  serves  to  empha- 
size the  actual  separation.  In 
almost  every  case  these  ill  -  advised  couplings  are 
productive  of  anomalous  disorder,  while  in  the 
case  of  the  numbered  streets  they  openly  trav- 
esty the  requirements  of  communal  propriety 
and  of  common-sense :  as  may  be  inferred  from 
the  fact  that  within  this  disjointed  region  Fourth 
Street  crosses  Tenth,  Eleventh,  and  Twelfth  streets 


^iK«ulTr^A^yr^t-yr«tv^  •«■ 


-"»*■/«>  >-~»  i 


GREENWICH    VILLAGE  85 

very  nearly  at  right  angles  —  to  the  permanent 
bewilderment  of  nations  and  to  the  perennial 
confusion  of  mankind. 

In  addition  to  being  hopelessly  at  odds  with 
the  surrounding  city,  Greenwich  is  handsomely  at 
variance  with  itself.  Its  streets,  so  far  as  they 
can  be  said  to  be  parallel  at  all,  are  parallel  in 
four  distinct  groups ;  they  have  a  tendency  to 
sidle  away  from  each  other  and  to  take  sudden 
and  unreasonable  turns ;  some  of  them  start  out 
well  enough  but,  after  running  only  a  block  or 
two,  encounter  a  church  or  a  row  of  houses  and 
pull  up  short.  Here,  in  a  word,  is  the  same  sort 
of  irregularity  that  is  found  in  the  lower  part  of 
the  city  between  Broadway  and  the  East  River, 
and  it  comes  from  the  same  cause :  neither  of 
these  crooked  regions  was  a  creation ;  both  were 
growths.  As  streets  were  wanted  in  Greenwich 
they  were  opened — or  were  made  by  promoting 
existing  lanes — in  accordance  with  the  notions  of 
the  owners  of  the  land;  and  that  the  village  did 
grow  up  in  this  loose  and  easy  fashion  is  indica- 
tive of  its  early  origin.  Actually,  excepting  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  the  Battery,  this  is  the 
oldest  habitation  of  white  men  on  the  Island  of 
New  York., 

But  there  were  red  men  living  here  before  the 
white  men  came.  In  the  Dutch  Records  refer- 
ences are  made  to  the  Indian  village  of  Sappoka- 
nican  ;  and  this  name,  or  the  Bossen  Bouerie — 
meaning  farm  in  the  woods  —  was  applied  for 
more  than  a  century  to  the  region  which  came 


86  IN   OLD    NEW    YORK 

to  be  known  as  Greenwich  in  the  later,  English, 
times.  The  Indian  village  probably  was  near  the 
site  of  the  present  Gansevoort  Market ;  but  the 
name  seems  to  have  been  applied  to  the  whole 
region  lying  between  the  North  River  and  the 
stream  called  the  Manetta  Water  or  Bestavaar's 
Kill. 

Although  the  Manetta  Creek  no  longer  is  visi- 
ble on  the  surface,  it  still  flows  in  diminished  vol- 
ume through  its  ancient  channel — as  those  living 
near  or  over  it  sometimes  know  to  their  cost.  Its 
east  branch  rises  east  of  the  Fifth  Avenue  be- 
tween Twentieth  and  Twenty-first  streets,  whence 
it  flows  in  nearly  a  straight  line  to  the  southwest 
corner  of  Union  Square ;  thence  in  a  slightly 
curving  line  to  a  junction  with  the  west  branch 
(which  rises  east  of  the  Sixth  Avenue,  between 
Fifteenth  and  Sixteenth  streets)  near  the  middle 
of  the  block  bounded  by  Eleventh  and  Twelfth 
streets  and  the  Fifth  and  Sixth  avenues;  from 
this  junction  it  flows  to  the  Fifth  Avenue  and 
Clinton  Place ;  and  thence  across  Washington 
Square,  through  Minetta  Street,  and  nearly  par- 
allel with  Downing  Street,  to  the  North  River 
between  Charlton  and  Houston  streets.  Not- 
withstanding the  fact  that  this  creek  has  been 
either  culverted  over  or  filled  in  throughout  its 
entire  length,  it  still  asserts  itself  occasionally 
with  a  most  undesirable  vigor.  Heavy  buildings 
cannot  be  erected  on  or  near  its  bed  without 
recourse  to  a  costly  foundation  of  piling  or  grill- 
age, nor  can  deep  excavations  be  made  anywhere 


« 

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to 


.r* 


GREENWICH    VILLAGE  89 

near  its  channel  without  danger  of  overflow. 
Both  of  these  conditions  have  been  in  evidence 
recently — the  pile-driving  for  the  Lincoln  Build- 
ing at  the  southwest  corner  of  Union  Square,  and 
the  grillage  for  the  building  at  the  northeast  cor- 
ner of  Nineteenth  Street  and  the  Fifth  Avenue ; 
the  inundation,  in  the  deep  cellar  lately  dug  on 
the  Sixth  Avenue  a  little  below  Eleventh  Street, 
and  also  in  the  cellar  of  the  new  building  No.  66 
Fifth  Avenue. 

In  primitive  times  the  land  between  Manetta 
Water  and  the  North  River  was  very  fertile — a 
light  loamy  soil,  the  value  of  which  anybody  with 
half  an  eye  for  soils  could  see  at  a  glance.  Where- 
fore Peter  Minuit,  first  of  the  Dutch  governors, 
with  a  becoming  regard  for  the  interests  of  his 
owners — this  was  just  after  he  had  bought  the 
whole  Island  of  Manhattan  from  the  unsuspect- 
ing savages  for  sixty  guilders,  or  twenty-four  dol- 
lars— set  apart  Sappokanican  as  one  of  the  four 
farms  to  be  reserved  to  the  Dutch  West  India 
Company  in  perpetuity.  With  even  greater,  but 
more  personal,  astuteness  the  second  Dutch  Gov- 
ernor, Wouter  Van  Twiller — having  a  most  unbe- 
coming regard  for  his  own  strictly  individual  in- 
terests— made  himself  at  once  grantor  and  grantee 
of  this  property,  and  so  appropriated  the  Com- 
pany's Farm  No.  3  as  his  own  private  tobacco 
plantation.  He  was  a  weak  brother,  this  Gov- 
ernor Van  Twiller,  and  his  governing  was  of  a 
spasmodic  and  feeble  sort ;  but  his  talent  for  con- 
verting public  property  to  private   uses  was   so 


90  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

marked  that  it  would  have  given  him  prominence 
at  a  very  much  later  period  in  the  history  of  the 
Ninth  Ward — the  whole  of  which  section  of  the 
future  city,  it  will  be  observed,  with  some  con- 
siderable slices  from  the  adjacent  territory,  he 
grabbed  with  one  swoop  of  his  big  Dutch  hands. 

Van  Twiller,  coming  over  in  the  Soatbcrg, 
landed  on  this  island  in  April,  1633.  As  he  was 
dilatory  only  in  matters  of  state  it  is  reasonable 
to  suppose  that  he  annexed  Sappokanican  in  time 
to  sow  his  first  crop  of  tobacco  that  very  year. 
His  farm-house  doubtless  was  the  first  house 
erected  on  the  island  of  Manhattan  north  of  the 
settlement  around  Fort  Amsterdam ;  and  with 
the  building  of  this  house  at  the  Bossen  Bouerie, 
Greenwich  Village  was  founded  —  only  a  dozen 
years  after  the  formal  colonization  of  the  New 
Netherland,  and  rather  more  than  two  centuries 
and  a  half  ago. 

Things  went  so  easily  and  gently  in  those  placid 
times  that  a  long  while  passed  before  the  Bossen 
Bouerie  suffered  the  smallest  change.  Twenty 
years  later,  in  the  time  of  Governor  Stuyvesant, 
mention  is  made  of  "  the  few  houses  at  Sappo- 
kanigan  "  ;  and  nearly  half  a  century  later  a  pass- 
ing reference  to  the  settlement  there  is  made  in 
the  Labadist  journal  so  fortunately  discovered  by 
the  late  Henry  C.  Murphy  during  his  residence 
at  the  Hague.  Under  date  of  September  7,  1679, 
the  journal  contains  this  entry :  "  We  crossed  over 
the  island,  which  takes  about  three-quarters  of  an 
hour  to  do,  and  came  to  the  North  River,  which 


)        > 


. 


j 

I 


-/ 


(Sr 


ON   THE    STEPS 


GREENWICH   VILLAGE  93 

we  followed  a  little  within  the  woods  to  Sapokan- 
ikee.  Gerrit  having  a  sister  and  friends  there,  we 
rested  ourselves  and  drank  some  good  beer,  which 
refreshed  us.  We  continued  along  the  shore  to 
the  city,  where  we  arrived  at  an  early  hour  in  the 
evening,  very  much  fatigued,  having  walked  this 
day  about  forty  miles.  I  must  add,  in  passing 
through  this  island  we  sometimes  encountered 
such  a  sweet  smell  in  the  air  that  we  stood  still ; 
because  we  did  not  know  what  it  was  we  were 
meeting." 

And  so  for  about  a  century  after  Governor  Van 
Twiller,  in  a  prophetically  aldermanic  fashion,  had 
boodled  to  himself  the  whole  of  the  future  Ninth 
Ward,  the  settlement  at  the  Bossen  Bouerie,  oth- 
erwise Sappokanican,  was  but  a  hamlet,  and  a  very 
small  hamlet,  tucked  into  the  edge  of  the  wood- 
land a  little  to  the  northward  of  where  the  docks 
of  the  Cunard  and  White  Star  steamers  were  to  be 
in  the  fulness  of  time:  and  the  hamleters  doubt- 
less had  very  fine  trout-fishing  between  the  future 
Fifth  and  Sixth  avenues  in  the  Manetta  Water ; 
and,  in  the  autumn,  good  duck-shooting  over  the 
marsh  which  later  was  to  be  Washington  Square. 


II 


I  know  not  how  long  a  time  may  have  elapsed 
between  the  conquest  of  this  island  by  the  Eng- 
lish and  the  discovery  by  the  Dutch  living  retired 
at  the  Bossen  Bouerie  that,  a  sea-change  having 


94  IN    OLD   NEW   YORK 

overswept  their  destinies,  they  had  passed  from 
the  domination  of  the  States  General  to  the  dom- 
ination of  the  British  King. 

It  is  said  that  when  the  engineers  of  the  West 
Shore  Railroad,  provided  with  guides  and  inter- 
preters, penetrated  into  the  valley  of  the  Hacken- 
sack,  a  dozen  years  or  so  ago,  they  created  a  great 
commotion  among  the  honest  Dutch  folk  dwell- 
ing in  those  sequestered  parts  by  taking  in  the 
news  that  something  more  than  eighty  years  pre- 
viously the  American  Republic  had  been  pro- 
claimed. Some  few  of  the  more  wide-awake  of 
these  retired  countryfolk  had  got  hold,  it  was  found, 
of  a  rumor  to  the  effect  that  the  New  Netherland, 
having  been  traded  away  for  Surinam  by  the  pro- 
visions of  the  Treaty  of  Breda,  had  become  a  de- 
pendency of  the  British  crown  ;  but  the  rumor 
never  had  been  traced  to  an  authoritative  source, 
and  was  regarded  by  the  older  and  more  conserv- 
ative of  the  inhabitants  of  Tenafly  and  Schraalen- 
burg  and  Kinderkamack,  and  the  towns  thereto 
adjacent,  as  mere  idle  talk.  Naturally,  the  much 
more  impossible  story  told  by  the  engineers  in- 
volved so  violent  a  strain  upon  human  credulity 
that  the  tellers  of  it  were  lucky  in  getting  safely 
away,  across  the  hills  by  Rockland  Lake  to  the 
Hudson  Valley,  with  unbroken  theodolites  and 
whole  hides.  The  matter,  I  may  add,  is  reported 
to  have  remained  in  uncertainty  until  the  run- 
ning of  milk-trains  over  the  new  railroad  brought 
this  region  into  communication  with  the  outside 
world. 


GREENWICH    VILLAGE 


95 


The  case  of  the  people  dwelling  at  Sappokani- 
can  was  different.  This  hamlet  being  less  remote, 
and  far  less  inaccessible,  than  the  towns  in  the 
Hackensack  Valley  —  being,  indeed,  but  a  trifle 
more  than  two  miles  northward  of  the  Dutch 
stronghold — there  is  reason  for  believing  that  the 
news  of  the  surrender  of  Fort  Amsterdam  to  the 
English,  on  the  8th  of  September,  1664,  penetrated 


■ 


NO.   54    DOWNING   STREET 


g6  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

thither  within  a  comparatively  short  period  after 
the  gloomy  event  occurred.  Indeed — while  there 
is  no  speaking  with  absolute  precision  in  this  mat- 
ter—  I  can  assert  confidently  that  within  but  a 
trifle  more  than  half  a  century  after  the  change 
of  rulers  had  taken  place  the  inhabitants  of  this 
settlement  were  acquainted  with  what  had  oc- 
curred :  as  is  proved  by  an  existing  land  convey- 
ance, dated  1 721,  in  which  the  use  of  the  phrase 
"  the  Bossen  Bouerie,  alias  Greenwich,"  shows  not 
only  that  the  advent  of  the  English  was  known 
there,  but  that  already  the  new-comers  had  so 
wedged  themselves  into  prominence  as  to  begin 
their  mischievous  obliteration  of  the  good  old 
Dutch  names. 

For  a  long  while  I  cherished  the  belief  that  the 
name  of  Greenwich  had  been  given  to  the  Bossen 
Bouerie  by  a  gallant  sailor  who  for  a  time  made 
that  region  his  home  :  Captain  Peter  Warren  of 
the  Royal  Navy  —  who  died  Sir  Peter  Warren, 
K.B.,  and  a  Vice-Admiral  of  the  Red  Squadron, 
and  whose  final  honor  was  a  tomb  in  the  Abbey 
in  the  company  of  other  heroes  and  of  various 
kings.  Applied  by  a  British  sailor  to  his  home 
ashore,  there  was  an  absolute  fitness  in  the  name; 
and  it  had  precisely  a  parallel  in  the  bestowal  of 
the  name  of  Chelsea  upon  the  adjoining  estate 
by  a  soldier,  Colonel  Clarke.  But  a  considerate 
survey  of  the  facts  has  compelled  me,  though  very 
reluctantly,  to  abandon  this  pleasingly  poetical 
hypothesis.  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  the 
name  Greenwich  was  in  use  by  or  before  the  year 


>      ')_     I 


- 


Siir  Peter 


Wahsiriets  KM. 


(From  The  Naval  Chronicle  for  October,  1804.) 


GREENWICH    VILLAGE  99 

1 71 1,  at  which  time  Peter  Warren  was  a  bog-trot- 
ting Irish  lad  of  only  eight  years  old  ;  and  it  cer- 
tainly was  in  use,  as  is  proved  by  the  land  con- 
veyance cited  above,  as  early  as  the  year  172 1,  at 
which  time  my  gentleman  was  but  a  sea-lieuten- 
ant, and  had  not  (so  far  as  I  can  discover)  laid 
eyes  on  America  at  all. 

Admiral  Sir  Peter  Warren  was  a  dashing  per- 
sonage in  his  day  and  generation,  but  his  glory 
was  won  in  what  now  are  wellnigh  forgotten  wars. 
Irish  by  birth,  and  with  as  fine  a  natural  disposi- 
tion for  fighting  as  ever  an  Irishman  was  blessed 
with,  he  worked  his  way  up  in  the  service  with  so 
handsome  a  rapidity  that  he  was  gazetted  a  post- 
captain,  and  to  the  command  of  his  Majesty's 
ship  Grafton,  when  he  was  only  twenty-four  years 
old — and  his  very  first  service  after  being  posted 
was  in  the  fleet  with  which  Sir  Charles  Wager 
knocked  the  Rock  of  Gibraltar  loose  from  the  rest 
of  the  Spanish  possessions ;  and  thereafter,  with 
more  rigor  than  righteousness,  annexed  it  to  the 
dominions  of  the  British  Crown. 

This  was  in  the  year  1727.  In  the  year  1728 
Captain  Warren  was  on  the  American  station  in 
the  Solebay,  frigate ;  probably  was  here  again  in 
1737;  and  certainly  was  here  from  about  1741 
until  1746  in  the  Squirrel,  sloop,  the  Lannccston, 
frigate,  and  the  60 -gun  ship  Superbe.  In  the 
spring  of  1744  Sir  Chaloner  Ogle  left  him  for  a 
while  commodore  of  a  squadron  of  sixteen  sail 
on  the  Leeward  Islands  station — where  his  luck 
so  well  stood  by  him  that  off  Martinique,  in  but 


IOO  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

little  more  than  four  months  (February  12-June- 
24)  the  ships  of  his  squadron  captured  no  less  than 
twenty-four  prizes:  one  of  which  was  a  register- 
ship  whereof  the  lading  of  plate  was  valued  at 
£250,000! 

Most  of  these  prizes  were  sent  into  New  York 
to  be  condemned;  and  "  Messieurs  Stephen  De 
Lancey  &  Company  "  (as  appears  from  an  adver- 
tisement in  The  Weekly  Post  Boy  for  June  30, 
1744)  acted  as  the  agents  of  Captain  Warren  in 
the  sale  of  his  French  and  Spanish  swag.  Nat- 
urally, the  good  bargains  to  our  merchants  which 
came  of  his  dashing  performances  made  him  vast- 
ly popular  here.  After  his  brilliant  cruise  he  re- 
turned to  New  York  that  the  Launceston  might 

;o  upon  the  careen";  and  when  he  had  refitted 
and  was  about  to  get  to  sea  again  the  Post  Boy 
(August  27)  gave  him  this  fine  send-off:  "His 
Majesty's  ship  Launceston,  commanded  by  the 
brave  Commodore  Warren  (whose  absence  old 
Oceanus  seems  to  lament),  being  now  sufficient- 
ly repaired,  will  sail  in  a  few  Days  in  order  once 
more  to  pay  some  of  his  Majesty's  enemies  a 
Visit. 

*  •  The  sails  are  spread  ;  see  the  bold  warrior  comes 
To  chase  the  French  and  interloping  Dons  !' ' 

Of  my  commodore's  gallant  work  at  Louisburg 
( for  which  the  violent  Mr.  Dunlap  refuses  to  give 
him  a  particle  of  credit),  and  of  his  gallant  share 
(about  which  there  can  be  no  question)  in  the  ac- 
tion fought  by  Anson  with  the  French  off  Cape 


1  I    4 


'©"    e 


WARREN    MONUMENT,  WESTMINSTER    AKBEY 


GREENWICH    VILLAGE  1 03 

Finisterre  on  the  3d  of  May,  1747,  I  cannot  prop- 
erly write  in  this  place ;  nor  can  I  here  do  more 
for  his  memory  than  make  bare  mention  of  the 
fact  that  he  sat  in  Parliament  for  the  city  of 
Westminster  during  the  last  few  years  of  his  life. 
But  'tis  plain  that  a  naval  personage  so  eminent 
fairly  deserved — when  his  cruising  on  this  planet 
was  ended  and  he  was  ordered  to  that  higher 
station  which  he  had  earned  by  his  heroic 
virtues  while  on  earth:  as  the  case  would  have 
been  stated  in  the  phrasing  of  his  time  —  some- 
thing out  of  the  common  in  the  way  of  an  endur- 
ing memorial.  And  he  certainly  got  it.  In  The 
Naval  Chronicle  I  find  recorded  the  fact  that  "  A 
superb  monument  wras  erected  to  his  memory  in 
Westminster  Abbey,  which  was  executed  by  that 
great  master  of  his  time,  Roubiliac.  Against  the 
wall  is  a  large  flag  hanging  to  the  flag-staff,  and 
spreading  in  natural  folds  behind  the  whole  mon- 
ument. In  the  front  is  a  fine  figure  of  Hercules 
placing  Sir  Peter's  bust  on  its  pedestal,  and  on 
one  side  is  a  figure  of  Navigation,  with  a  wreath 
of  laurel  in  her  hand,  gazing  on  the  bust  with  a 
look  of  melancholy  mixt  with  admiration  " — and 
so  on. 

In  his  Historical  Memorials  of  Westminster 
Abbey,  Dean  Stanley  writes:  "In  the  North 
Transept  and  the  north  aisle  of  the  Choir  follow 
the  cenotaphs  of  a  host  of  seamen,"  among  which 
is  that  of  "  Warren,  represented  by  Roubiliac  with 
the  marks  of  the  small-pox  on  his  face."  The 
Dean  adds  that  Roubiliac  "  constantly  visited  Dr. 


104  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

Johnson  to  get  from  him  epitaphs  worthy  of  his 
works  "  ;  and  therefore  concludes,  as  also  from  the 
strong  internal  evidence,  that  the  following  high- 
flowing  effusion  is  from  the  Doctor's  pen  : 

Sacred  to  the  memory 

of  Sir  PETER  WARREN, 

Knight  of  the  Bath, 

Vice- Admiral  of  the  Red  Squadron 

of  the  British  Fleet, 

and  Member  of  Parliament 

For  the  City  and  Liberty  of  Westminster. 

He  Derived  his  Descent  from  an  Antient  Family  of 

IRELAND; 

His  Fame  and  Honours  from  his  Virtues  and  Abilities. 

How  eminently  these  were  displayed, 

With  what  vigilance  and  spirit  they  were  exerted, 

In  the  various  services  wherein  he  had  the  honour 

To  command. 
And  the  happiness  to  conquer, 
Will  be  more  properly  recorded  in  the  Annals  of 
GREAT    BRITAIN. 
On  this  tablet  Affection  with  truth  must  say 
That,  deservedly  esteemed  in  private  life, 
And  universally  renowned  for  his  public  conduct, 
The  judicial  and  gallant  Officer 
Possessed  all  the  amiable  qualities  of  the 
Friend,  the  Gentleman,  and  the  Christian  : 
But  the  ALMIGHTY, 
Whom  alone  he  feared,  and  whose  gracious  protection 
He  had  often  experienced, 
Was  pleased  to  remove  him  from  a  place  of  Honour, 
To  an  eternity  of  happiness, 
On  the  29th  day  of  July,  1752, 
In  the  49th  year  of  his  age. 


Ill 

I  have  revived  for  a  moment  the  personality 
of  this  "judicial  and  gallant  Officer"  because  the 
village  of  Greenwich,  while  not  named  by  him, 
had  its  rise  on  one  of  the  estates  which  he  pur- 
chased with  his  winnings  at  sea. 

Flying  his  flag  aboard  the  Launceston,  com- 
manding on  the  station,  and  making  such  a  brave 
show  with  his  captured  ships,  Captain — by  cour- 
tesy Commodore  —  Warren  cut  a  prodigiously 
fine  figure  here  in  New  York  about  the  year  of 
grace  1744;  so  fine,  indeed,  that  never  a  man  in 
the  whole  Province,  excepting  only  the  Governor, 
could  be  compared  with  him  in  dignity.  And 
under  these  brilliant  circumstances  it  is  not  at 
all  surprising  that  pretty  Mistress  Susannah  De 
Lancey  was  quite  ready  to  complete  his  tale  of 
"  Irishman's  luck"  by  giving  him  in  her  own 
sweet  person  an  heiress  for  a  wife  ;  nor  that  her 
excellent  father — who  already  must  have  made  a 
pot  of  money  out  of  this  most  promising  son-in- 
law — was  more  than  ready  to  give  his  consent  to 
the  match.  It  was  about  the  time  of  the  Com- 
modore's marriage,  probably,  that  he  bought  his 
Greenwich  farm — a  property  of  not  far  from  three 
hundred  acres  ;  which  was  a  little  increased,  la- 
ter, by  a  gift  of  land  voted  to  him  by  the  city 
in  recognition  of  his  achievement  at  Louisburg 
in  1745. 


106  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

Pending  the  building  of  his  country-seat,  and 
probably  also  as  a  winter  residence,  Captain  War- 
ren occupied  the  Jay  house  near  the  lower  end 
of  Broadway.  One  of  the  historians  of  New 
York,  falling  violently  afoul  of  another  historian 
of  New  York,  has  asserted  hotly  that  Captain 
Warren  built  and  lived  in  the  house,  known  as 
the  Kennedy  house,  which  long  occupied  the  site 
No.  i  Broadway.  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should 
venture  to  thrust  my  gossiping  nose  (if  so  bold  a 
metaphor  may  be  tolerated)  into  this  archaeologi- 
cal wrangle;  but,  with  submission,  it  is  necessary 
for  my  present  purposes  to  assert  positively  that 
Captain  Warren  had  no  more  to  do  with  the 
building  of  the  Kennedy  house  than  he  had  to 
do  with  the  building  of  the  Tower  of  Babel.  In 
the  English  Records,  under  date  of  May,  1745,  is 
this  entry :  "  Ordered  :  That  a  straight  line  be 
drawn  from  the  south  corner  of  the  house  of  Mr. 
Augustus  Jay,  now  in  the  occupation  of  Peter 
Warren,  Esquire,  to  the  north  corner  of  the 
house  of  Archibald  Kennedy,  fronting  the  Bowl- 
ing Green  in  Broadway,  and  that  Mr.  William 
Smith,  who  is  now  about  to  build  a  house  (and 
all  other  persons  who  shall  build  between  the 
two  houses)  lay  their  foundations  and  build  con- 
formably to  the  aforesaid  line."  This  record,  I 
conceive,  fixes  definitely  Captain  Warren's  down- 
town residence,  and  also  sufficiently  confirms  the 
accepted  genesis  of  the  Kennedy  house. 

Concerning  the  country-seat  at  Greenwich  even 
the  historians  have  not  very  materially  disagreed. 


A   STAGE   IN   THE  THIRTIES 


It  was  built  by  Captain  Warren  on  a  scale  of  ele- 
gance appropriate  to  one  who  had  only  to  drop 
across  to  the  Leeward  Islands  and  pick  up  a 
Spanish  plate-ship,  or  a  few  French  West-India- 
men,  in  order  to  satisfy  any  bills  which  the  car- 
penters and  masons  might  send  in ;  and  the  es- 
tablishment seems  to  have  been  maintained  upon 
a  footing  of  liberality  in  keeping  with  this  easy 
way  of   securing   a   revenue.     The  house   stood 


108  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

about  three  hundred-  yards  back  from  the  river, 
on  ground  which  fell  away  in  a  gentle  slope  tow- 
ards the  waterside.  The  main  entrance  was  from 
the  east;  and  at  the  rear  —  on  the  level  of  the 
drawing-room  and  a  dozen  feet  or  so  above  the 
sloping  hill-side — was  a  broad  veranda  command- 
ing the  view  westward  to  the  Jersey  Highlands 
and  southward  down  the  bay  clear  to  the  Staten 
Island  hills.  I  like  to  fancy  my  round  little  cap- 
tain seated  upon  this  veranda,  of  placid  summer 
afternoons,  smoking  a  comforting  pipe  after  his 
mid-day  dinner;  and  taking  with  it,  perhaps,  as 
sea-faring  gentlemen  very  often  did  in  those  days,  a 
glass  or  two  of  substantial  rum-and-water  to  keep 
everything  below  hatches  well  stowed.  With 
what  approving  eyes  must  he  have  regarded  the 
trimly  kept  lawns  and  gardens  below  him  ;  and 
with  what  eyes  of  affection  the  Launccston,  all 
a-taunto,  lying  out  in  the  stream!  Presently, 
doubtless,  the  whiffs  from  his  pipe  came  at  long- 
er and  longer  intervals,  and  at  last  entirely  ceased 
— as  the  spirit  which  animated  his  plumply  pros- 
perous body,  lulled  by  its  soft  and  mellowing  sur- 
roundings, sank  gently  into  peaceful  sleep.  And 
then  I  fancy  him,  an  hour  or  two  later,  wakened 
by  Mistress  Sue's  playing  upon  the  harpsichord ; 
and  his  saying  handsorne  things  to  her  (in  his  rich 
Irish  brogue)  when  she  comes  from  the  drawing- 
room  to  join  him,  and  they  stand  together — one 
of  his  stout  little  arms  tucked  snugly  about  her 
jimp  waist — looking  out  across  the  gleaming  river, 
and  the  Elysian   Fields   dark   in  shadow,  at  the 


a 
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> 

JO 

w 

Z 

= 

o 

G 
in 
W 

O 

70 
M 

K 

o 

a 


GREENWICH    VILLAGE  III 


glowing  splendor  of  the  sunset  above  the  foot- 
hills of  the  Palisades. 

The  picture  of  the  house  which  is  here  repro- 
duced was  made  a  hundred  years  after  the  admi- 
ral had  ceased  to  cruise  upon  the  waters  of  this 
planet,  and  when  the  property  was  in  the  posses- 
sion of  the  late  Abraham  Van  Nest,  Esq. — whose 
home  it  was  for  more  than  thirty  years.  Great 
locust-trees  stood  guard  about  it,  together  with  a 
few  poplars ;  and  girding  the  garden  were  thick 
hedges  of  box,  whence  came  in  the  summer  days 
of  hot  sunshine — as  I  am  told  by  one  of  the  de- 
lightful old  gentlemen  with  whom  of  late  I  have 
been  holding  converse — a  sweetly  aromatic  smell. 
The  poplar- trees,  probably,  dated  from  the  first 
decade  of  the  present  century,  at  which  period 
they  had  an  extraordinary  vogue.  It  was  in  the 
year  1809  that  Mr.  Samuel  Burling's  highly  inju- 
dicious offer  to  plant  with  poplar-trees  the  princi- 
pal street  of  New  York  —  from  Leonard  Street 
northward  to  the  Greenwich  Lane — was  accepted 
gratefully  by  the  corporation,  "  because  it  will  be 
an  additional  beauty  to  Broadway,  the  pride  of 
our  city "  ;  and  the  outcome  of  that  particular 
piece  of  beautifying  was  to  make  Broadway  look 
for  a  great  many  years  afterwards  like  a  street 
which  had  escaped  from  a  Noah's  ark ! 

But  long  before  anybody  had  even  dreamed 
that  the  Broadway  ever  would  be  extended  to 
these  remote  northern  regions  the  Warren  farm 
had  passed  from  the  possession  not  only  of  Sir 
Peter,  but  also  from  the  possession  of  his  three 


112  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

daughters — Charlotte,  Ann,  and  Susannah — who 
were  his  only  children  and  heirs.  The  admiral 
seems  to  have  been  but  little  in  America  during 
the  later  years  of  his  life;  and  after  1747 — when 
he  was  elected  a  member  of  Parliament  for  the 
city  of  Westminster — I  find  no  authentic  trace  of 
him  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic.  But  Lady  War- 
ren, while  Sir  Peter  was  spending  the  most  of  his 
time  at  sea,  blazing  away  with  his  cannon  at  the 
French,  very  naturally  continued  to  reside  near 
her  father  and  brother  here  in  New  York ;  not 
until  his  election  to  Parliament,  at  which  time 
he  became  a  householder  in  London,  did  she  join 
him  on  the  other  side. 

Doubtless,  also,  consideration  for  her  daughters 
— in  the  matter  of  schooling,  and  with  a  look  ahead 
towards  match-making — had  much  to  do  wty:h  her 
ladyship's  move.  So  far  as  match-making  was 
concerned,  the  change  of  base  enabled  her  to 
make  a  very  fair  score  —  two,  out  of  a  possible 
three.  Charlotte,  the  eldest  daughter,  married 
Willoughby,  Earl  of  Abingdon  ;  and  Ann,  the  sec- 
ond daughter,  married  Charles  Fitzroy,  afterward 
Baron  Southampton  :  whereby  is  seen  that  real 
estate  in  New  York,  coupled  with  a  substantial 
bank  account,  gave  as  firm  assurance  of  a  coronet 
sevenscore  years  ago  as  it  does  to-day.  Susannah, 
the  youngest  daughter,  was  indiscreet  enough,  I 
fear,  to  make  a  mere  love-match.  She  married  a 
paltry  colonel  of  foot,  one  William  Skinner — and 
presently  died,  as  did  also  her  husband,  leav- 
ing behind  her  a  baby  Susannah  to  inherit  her 


GREENWICH    VILLAGE  113 

third  of  the  chunky  admiral's  prize-moneys  and 
lands. 

The  names  of  the  husbands  of  all  three  of  these 
ladies  became  attached  to  the  property  in  New 
York.  Skinner  Road  was  the  present  Christopher 
Street ;  Fitzroy  Road  ran  north,  near  the  line  of 
the  present  Eighth  Avenue,  from  about  the  pres- 
ent Fourteenth  Street  to  about  the  present  Forty- 
second  Street ;  the  Southampton  Road  ran  from 
the  present  Gansevoort  Street  (which  was  a  part 
of  it)  diagonally  to  a  point  on  the  Abingdon  Road, 
a  little  east  of  the  present  Sixth  Avenue ;  and  the 
Abingdon  Road  (called  also  Love  Lane),  practi- 
cally on  the  line  of  the  present  Twenty  -  first 
Street,  connected  what  now  is  Broadway  with  the 
Fitzroy  Road,  and  eventually  was  extended  to 
the  North  River.  The  only  survival  of  any  of 
these  family  names  is  in  Abingdon  Square. 

The  deeds  for  the  property  in  the  Greenwich 
region  all  begin  by  reciting — with  the  old-woman- 
ly loquacity  of  deeds — the  facts  in  regard  to  Sir 
Peter's  issue  briefly  set  forth  above ;  and  in  addi- 
tion tell  how  his  estate  was  partitioned  by  a 
process  in  which  the  solemnity  of  legal  procedure 
was  mitigated  by  an  agreeable  dash  of  the  dicing 
habits  of  the  day :  "  In  pursuance  of  the  powers 
given  in  the  said  antenuptial  deeds  the  trustees 
therein  named,  on  March  31,  1787,  agreed  upon 
a  partition  of  the  said  lands,  which  agreement  was 
with  the  approbation  and  consent  of  the  cestui 
que  trusts,  to  wit :  Earl  and  Lady  Abingdon,  and 
Charles  Fitzroy  and  Ann  his  wife,  the  said  Susan- 

8 


114  IN    OLD    NEW   YORK 

nah  Skinner  the  second  not  then  having  arrived 
at  age.  In  making  the  partition,  the  premises 
were  divided  into  three  parts  on  a  survey  made 
thereof  and  marked  A,  B,  and  C ;  and  it  was 
agreed  that  such  partition  should  be  made  by  each 
of  the  trustees  naming  a  person  to  throw  dice 
for  and  in  behalf  of  their  respective  cestui  que 
trusts,  and  that  the  person  who  should  throw  the 
highest  number  should  have  parcel  A ;  the  one 
who  should  throw  the  next  highest  number  should 
have  parcel  B ;  and  the  one  who  should  throw 
the  lowest  number  should  have  parcel  C — for  the 
persons  whom  they  respectively  represented  ;  and 
the  premises  were  partitioned  accordingly." 

It  was  on  the  lines  of  the  map  made  for  this 
partition  that  Greenwich  went  along  easily  and 
peacefully  until  it  was  brought  up  with  a  round 
turn,  in  the  year  1811,  by  the  formation  of  the 
present  City  Plan. 

IV 

The  lots  into  which  the  Warren  property  was 
divided  were  of  twelve  or  fifteen  acres,  suitable 
for  small  farms  or  country-seats,  and  the  base- 
line naturally  adopted  was  the  present  Green- 
wich Avenue,  then  Monument  Lane.  By  the 
turn  of  the  dice,  the  homestead,  with  fifty-five 
acres  of  land  round  about  it,  fell  to  the  share  of 
Lady  Abingdon  :  who  united  with  her  husband 
in  selling  it,  in  178S,  for  $2200.  A  little  later  the 
property  passed    into  the  possession   of  Abijah 


70 


i 


(i 


v 


•-        A  ft 


GREENWICH    VILLAGE  I  17 


0 


Hammond ;  and  from  him  the  mansion-house, 
with  the  square  bounded  by  Fourth,  Bleecker, 
Perry,  and  Charles  streets,  was  purchased  by  Mr. 
Van  Nest,  in  1819,  for  $15,000.  Until  August, 
1865,  this  beautiful  property  remained  intact — 
save  that  the  trees  ever  grew  larger  and  that  ihe 
house  took  on  a  mellower  tone  as  the  years  went 
on — and  then  it  was  swept  away,  and  the  existing 
stupid  brick  houses  were  built  in  its  place. 

For  more  than  a  century  and  a  quarter  the 
Warren  house  was  the  most  important  dwelling 
on  this  portion  of  the  island.  It  was  the  nucleus 
about  which  other  country-seats  clustered — in- 
cluding, before  the  year  1767,  those  of  William 
Bayard,  James  Jauncey,  and  Oliver  De  Lancey, 
Lady  Warren's  brother :  whose  estate,  later,  was 
confiscated  because  of  his  loyalty  to  the  crown. 
Very  proper  and  elegant  people  were  all  of  these, 
and — their  seats  being  at  a  convenient  distance 
from  the  city — their  elegant  friends  living  in  New 
York  found  pleasure  in  making  Greenwich  an 
objective  point  when  taking  the  air  of  fine  after- 
noons. And  even  when  visiting  was  out  of  the 
question,  a  turn  through  Greenwich  to  the  Monu- 
ment was  a  favorite  expedition  among  the  gentle- 
folk of  a  century  or  so  ago. 

Until  about' the  year  1767,  access  to  this  region 
was  only  by  the  Greenwich  Road,  close  upon  the 
line  of  the  present  Greenwich  Street  and  directly 
upon  the  water- side.  Where  it  crossed  Lispe- 
nard's  meadows  (the  low  region  lying  on  each  side 
of  the  present  Canal  Street)  and  the  marshy  val- 


Il8  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

ley  (about  Charlton  Street)  of  the  Manetta  Creek, 
the  road  was  raised  upon  a  causeway ;  but  not  to 
a  sufficient  height  to  save  it  from  being  heavy  in 
wet  weather  and  in  part  under  water  with  strong 
spring  tides.  For  the  greater  convenience  of  the 
dwellers  at  Greenwich,  therefore,  inland  commu- 
nication between  that  region  and  the  city  was 
provided  for  by  opening  a  lane  (formally  ap- 
proved in  1768)  from  the  Post  Road  (now  the 
Bowery)  westward  across  the  fields.  Two  sec- 
tions of  this  lane  still  are  in  existence:  the  bit 
between  the  Bowery  and  Broadway  (formerly  Art 
Street)  that  now  is  Astor  Place ;  and  the  bit  be- 
tween Eighth  and  Fourteenth  streets  that  now  is 
Greenwich  Avenue.  Being  prolonged  more  or 
less  on  the  lines  thus  established,  the  two  sections 
met  near  the  northwest  corner  of  the  present 
Washington  Square. 

Greenwich  Lane  was  called  also  Monument 
Lane  and  Obelisk  Lane  :  for  the  reason  that  at 
its  northern  extremity,  a  little  north  of  the  pres- 
ent Eighth  Avenue  and  Fifteenth  Street,  was  a 
monument  in  honor  of  General  Wolfe.  After 
the  erection  of  this  memorial  to  the  hero  of  Que- 
bec the  drive  of  good  society  was  out  the  Post 
Road  to  the  Greenwich  turning;  thence  across  to 
the  Obelisk:  thence  by  the  Great  Kiln  or  South- 
ampton Road  (the  present  Gansevoort  Street) 
over  to  the  Hudson;  and  so  homeward  by  the 
river-side  while  the  sun  was  sinking  in  golden 
glory  behind  the  Jersey  hills.  Or  the  drive  could 
be  extended  a  little  by  going  out  the  Post  Road 


GREENWICH   VILLAGE  1 19 

as  far  as  Love  Lane,  and  thence  south  by  the 
Southampton,  Warren,  or  Fitzroy  Road  to  the 
Great  Kiln  Road,  and  so  by  the  water-side  back 
to  town. 

With  the  exceptions  noted,  all  of  the  old  roads 
hereabouts  have  disappeared  under  the  City  Plan  ; 
yet  many  traces  of  them  still  survive,  and  can  be- 
found  by  careful  searching  along  their  ancient 
lines.*  For  instance,  the  Union  Road — which 
connected  the  Skinner  and  Great  Kiln  roads — 
seems  at  the  first  glance  to  have  been  entirely 
ploughed  under.  But  such  is  not  the  case.  It 
began  about  in  the  rear  of  the  frame  dwelling 
No.  33  West  Eleventh  Street ;  and  not  two 
hundred  feet  from  its  beginning  its  slanting  line 
across  Twelfth  Street  still  is  denned  clearly  by 
the  corner  cut  off  and  the  corner  projecting  of 
the  houses  numbered  43  and  45.  On  West  Thir- 
teenth Street  an  old  wooden  house,  No,  38,  marks 
with  its  slanting  side  the  line  of  the  road ;  and 
against  this  ancient  structure  has  been  erected 
within  the  present  year  (1894)  a  tall  building, 
whereof  the  slanting  eastern  wall  conforms  to  the 
road-line,  covering  in  part  the  site  of  a  still  more 
picturesque  wooden  dwelling  with  outside  stairs 
— built  when  all  about  here  was  open  country — 
which  was  buried  in  the  heart  of  the  block. 

As  to  the  monument  to  General  Wolfe,  which 

*  In  determining  the  lines  of  the  old  roads,  and  the  boundaries 
of  the  old  estates,  I  have  had  the  assistance  of  Mr.  Richard  D. 
Cooke,  the  highest  authority  in  such  matters  in  New  York,  and 
the  use  of  his  unique  collection  of  maps. 


120  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

gave  a  name  to  Monument  Lane  and  an  objec- 
tive point  for  afternoon  drives,  it  seems  to  have 
dissolved  into  thin  air.  It  certainly  was  in  posi- 
tion during  the  British  occupation  of  New  York 
in  Revolutionary  times,  but  since  those  times  no 
vestige  of  it  has  been  found.  The  theory  has 
•been  advanced  that  the  English  soldiers  took 
away  with  them  this  memorial  of  their  gallant 
countryman — fearing  that  harm  might  come  to  it 
if  left  in  a  rebellious  land.  But  an  obelisk  is  not 
a  handy  thing  for  an  army  to  carry  around  with 
it,  even  though,  as  in  this  case,  the  obelisk  is  a 
small  one  and  the  army  is  travelling  by  sea;  nor 
is  it  so  inconspicuous  an  object  that  it  can  be 
picked  up  or  set  down  by  an  army  without  at- 
tracting a  certain  amount  of  attention  on  the  part 
of  the  by-standers.  Therefore,  I  think  that  had 
it  really  been  put  aboard  ship,  somebody  here 
would  have  chronicled  the  queer  fact ;  and  that 
had  it  been  landed  in  another  country,  news  as  to 
its  whereabouts  would  have  come  to  New  York 
in  the  century  and  more  that  has  slipped  away 
since  it  disappeared.  On  the  other  hand,  had  it 
remained  on  this  island,  it  ought  still  to  be  some- 
where in  sight. 

On  the  line  of  the  Monument  Lane,  or  Green- 
wich Lane,  lay  the  Potter's  Field,  a  part  of  which 
now  is  Washington  Square.  In  1794  the  Potter's 
Field  was  established  at  the  junction  of  the  Post 
Road  and  the  Bloomingdale  Road,  on  land  now 
a  part  of  Madison  Square ;  but  this  site  was  aban- 
doned three  years  later,  partly  because  the  United 


VJ^ 


GAY    STREET 


GREENWICH    VILLAGE  1 23 

States  Arsenal  was  erected  there,  and  partly  be- 
cause reasonable  exception  was  taken  to  the  ob- 
trusion of  pauper  funerals  upon  the  fashionable 
drive.  On  this  latter  score  the  move,  in  1797,  to 
what  is  now  Washington  Square  did  not  much 
mend  matters,  and  very  strong  remonstrances 
were  urged  against  it.  But  the  move  was  made, 
and  tjiere  the  graveyard  remained — on  the  north 
side  of  the  lane,  about  at  the  foot  of  the  present 
Fifth  Avenue — until  the  year  ^823.  It  was  not 
strictly  a  pauper's  graveyard — a  fact  that  was 
demonstrated  by  the  unearthing  of  tombstones 
(a  luxury  not  accorded  to  paupers)  while  excava- 
tion was  in  progress,  in  the  summer  of  1890,  for 
the  Washington  Arch.  Much  to  my  sorrow,  I 
was  out  of  the  country  when  these  tombstones 
were  dug  up ;  and,  later,  when  I  searched  for 
them,  they  had  disappeared. 

North  of  Greenwich  Lane,  extending  from  the 
Bowery  across  to  about  the  easterly  line  of  the 
present  Fifth  Avenue,  was  the  Eliot  estate;  which 
later  was  owned  by  Captain  Robert  Richard  Ran- 
dall, and  was  bequeathed  by  him  (June  1,  1801) 
for  the  founding  of  the  Sailors'  Snug  Harbor. 
The  estate,  in  all,  comprised  about  twenty-one 
acres  of  good  farming  land ;  with  which  went  the 
mansion-house,  and  also  two  or  three  lots  in  the 
First  Ward.  It  was  Captain  Randall's  intention 
that  the  Snug  Harbor  should  be  built  upon  this 
property — for  which  he  had  paid  ^5000  when  he 
bought  it,  in  1790,  from  "  Baron  '  Poelnitz — and 
that  the   farm   would   supply  all   the  grain   and 


124  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

vegetables  which  the  inmates  of  the  institution 
would  require.  The  trustees,  however,  perceived 
that  farming  was  not  the  most  profitable  use  to 
which  the  property  could  be  put ;  and  while  the 
suits  to  break  the  will  still  were  pending,  they 
procured  an  act  of  the  Legislature  (April,  1828) 
which  enabled  them  to  lease  it  and  to  purchase 
the  property  on  Staten  Island  where  the  asylum 
now  stands.  But  it  was  not  until  the  year  1831, 
the  case  having  been  settled  definitely  in  favor  of 
the  trust  by  the  decision  of  the  United  States 
Supreme  Court  in  March.  1830,  that  this  purchase 
was  made.  At  the  time  of  Captain  Randall's 
death  his  estate  yielded  an  annual  income  of 
about  $4000;  by  1848  the  income  had  increased 
to  nearly  $40,000 ;  by  1870  to  a  little  more  than 
Si 00,000;   and   at   the   present   time   it   is   about 

50,000. 

Valuable  though  the  Snug  Harbor  property  is, 
it  certainly  would  have  increased  in  value  far 
more  rapidly,  and  would  be  far  more  valuable  as 
a  whole  at  the  present  day,  had  it  fallen  into  the 
market  on  its  owner's  death  instead  of  becoming 
leasehold  property  in  perpetuity.  Leaseholds  are 
the  direct  product  of  the  law  of  entail  or  primo- 
geniture— under  which  the  title  to  land  is  held 
only  in  trust  by  the  male  line  in  seniority,  and 
the  fee  becomes  simple  only  when  the  line  is 
extinguished  and  a  division  made  among  the 
general  heirs.  Holdings  of  this  sort  essentially 
are  un-American  in  principle,  and  have  the  prac- 
tical inconvenience  of  two  ownerships  (which  con- 


Vf- 


"«f  '("tWCBOfT  tliffimpim(||l))g|)IWi  niillmilMNKHit  ■«4UU)W«'v  ^., 


NO.  260   WEST    TENTH    STREET 


ceivably  may  become  antagonistic)  in  what  virt- 
ually is  a  single  possession  :  a  house,  and  the  land 
on  which  it  stands. 

There  is  a  very  considerable  amount  of  lease- 
hold property  in  New  York,  and  in  almost  every  in- 
stance this  encumbered  land  is  less  valuable — i.  e,, 
brings  in  a  smaller  return — than  land  immediately 
adjoining  it  of  which  the  fee  may  be  transferred. 
In  the  case  of  the  Snug  Harbor  estate  the  first 
leases,  when  the  existing  dwelling-houses  were 
erected,  were  made  to  advantage ;  but  this  tied-up 
property  was  skipped  over,  when  business  moved 
northward,  in  favor  of  the  region  above  Four- 
teenth Street  where  the  fee  can  be  acquired. 


Simultaneously  with  the  founding  of  the  coun- 
try-seats at  Greenwich,  two  small  settlements  of  a 
humbler  sort  were  formed  on  the  shore  of  the 
North  River  in  that  region.  One  of  these,  known 
as  Lower  Greenwich,  was  at  the  foot  of  Brannan 
(now  Spring)  Street,  and  the  other,  known  as 
Upper  Greenwich,  was  at  the  foot  of  what  now  is 
Christopher  Street  and  then  was  the  Skinner 
Road.  Of  this  latter  an  entire  block  still  remains  : 
the  row  of  low  wooden  houses  on  West  Street 
between  Christopher  and  Tenth,  of  which  the 
best  view  is  from  Wiehawken  Street  in  the  rear. 
These  houses  were  standing,  certainly,  as  far  back- 
as  the  year  1796 — as  is  shown  on  the  Commission- 
ers' map  by  the  indentation  to  accommodate 
them  upon  the  State-prison  property  acquired  in 
that  year.  Probably  they  are  the  houses  indi- 
cated on  the  Ratzen  Map  as  standing  at  this 
point  one  hundred  and  twenty-seven  years  ago. 

The  building  of  the  State-prison  brought  to 
the  upper  village  what  might  have  been  called — 
could  the  use  of  the  word  have  been  anticipated 
by  four-fifths  of  a  century — a  boom.  As  passed, 
the  act  of  Assembly  of  March  26,  1796,  provided 
for  the  erection  of  two  prisons,  one  in  Albany 
and  one  in  New  York  ;  but  a  subsequent  modifi- 
cation of  the  act  applied  the  entire  sum  appropri- 
ated— about  $200,000 — to  the  erection  of  a  single 


GREENWICH    VILLAGE 


127 


building  here.  The  prison  stood  at  the  foot  of 
Amos  (now  Tenth)  Street,  on  the  site  occupied 
by  the  existing  brewery :  into  the  structure  of 
which  (as  may  be  seen  just  inside  the  Tenth 
Street  entrance)  have  been  incorporated  parts  of 
the  old  walls.  The  building — 200  feet  long,  with 
wings  extending  from  it  at  right  angles  towards 
the  river — stood  in  grounds  of  about  four  acres  in 
extent ;  the  whole  enclosed  by  a  stone-wall  twen- 


STATE   PRISON 


ty-two  feet  high  on  the  side  towards  the  river, 
and  fourteen  feet  high  elsewhere.  One  of  my 
aged  gossips  has  told  me  that  a  wharf  was  built 
out  into  the  stream,  but  that  it  did  not  extend 
far  enough  to  be  available  at  all  stages  of  the 
tide.  This  particular  gossip  was  a  river-captain 
in  his  day,  sixty  years  and  more  ago,  and  among 
the  queer  freights  which  he  used  to  bring  to  the 
city  there  would  be  now  and  then  a  load  of  con- 
victs. His  passengers  did  not  like  it  at  all,  he 
said,  when,  the  tide  not  serving,  he  was  compelled 


128  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

to  carry  them  past  the  prison  to  which  they  were 
bound  and  to  land  them  at  the  Battery:  "  and  I 
must  say  I  didn't  wonder/'  he  added.  "Just 
think  how  it  would  be  yourself — walkin'  clost  on 
to  three  mile  of  a  br'ilin'  summer  day,  with  nothin' 
better'n  gettin'  jailed  when  you  corned  t'  the  end 
of  it !  It  was  only  human  natur'  for  them  poor 
devils  t'  get  up  on  their  ears  an'  swear."  Log 
rafts  from  up  the  river  used  to  make  fast  near 
the  State-prison  wharf  pending  their  purchase  by 
the  ship-builders  and  lumber-dealers  down  in  the 
city.  It  was  great  fun,  one  of  my  cheery  old 
gentlemen  tells  me,  going  in  swimming  off  these 
rafts  about  sixty  years  ago. 

The  prison  was  opened  November  28,  1797, 
when  seventy  prisoners  were  transferred  thither, 
and  it  continued  in  use  a  little  more  than  thirty 
years.  The  male  prisoners  were  transferred  to 
Sing  Sing  in  1828,  and  the  female  prisoners  in  the 
spring  of  1829  —  when  the  entire  property  was 
sold  into  private  hands.  This  was  one  of  the  first 
prisons  in  which  convicts  were  taught  trades;  but 
for  a  long  while  the  more  conspicuous  results  of 
this  benevolent  system — a  feature  of  which  was 
the  assembling  together  of  the  prisoners  in  large 
work-rooms,  with  consequent  abundant  oppor- 
tunities for  concocting  conspiracies  —  were  dan- 
gerous plots  and  mutinous  outbreaks.  In  June, 
1799,  fifty  or  sixty  men  revolted  and  seized  their 
keepers;  and  not  until  the  guards  opened  fire  on 
them  with  ball  cartridge — by  which  several  were 
wounded,  though  none  were  killed — was  the  mu- 


GREENWICH    VILLAGE  1 29 

tiny  quelled.  In  April,  1803,  about  forty  men 
broke  from  the  prison  to  the  prison-yard,  and,  after 
setting  fire  to  the  building,  attempted  to  scale 
the  walls ;  and  again  the  guards  came  with  their 
muskets  and  compelled  order — this  time  killing 
as  well  as  wounding — while  the  keepers  put  out 
the  fire.  In  May,  1804,  a  still  more  dangerous 
revolt  occurred.  On  this  occasion  the  keepers 
were  locked  in  the  north  wing  of  the  building, 
which  then  was  fired.  Fortunately,  according  to 
a  contemporaneous  account,  '*  one  more  humane 
than  the  rest  released  the  keepers"  ;  but  the  north 
wing  was  destroyed,  involving  a  loss  of  $25,000, 
and  in  the  confusion  many  of  the  prisoners  es- 
caped. A  long  sigh  of  thankfulness  must  have 
gone  up  from  Greenwich  when  this  highly  vol- 
canic institution  became  a  thing  of  the  past. 

Yet  the  people  of  Greenwich  were  disposed  to 
feel  a  certain  pride  in  their  penal  establishment, 
and  to  treat  it  as  one  of  the  attractions  of  their 
town — as  appears  from  the  following  advertise- 
ment of  the  Greenwich  Hotel  in  The  Columbian 
of  September  18,  181 1: 

"  A  few  gentlemen  may  be  accommodated  with  board 
and  lodging  at  this  pleasant  and  healthy  situation,  a  few 
doors  from  the  State  Prison.  The  Greenwich  stage 
passes  from  this  to  the  Federal  Hall  and  returns  five 
times  a  day." 

A  little  later,  18 16,  Asa   Hall's  line  of  stages 
was  running:   with  departures   from   Greenwich 
on  the  even  hours  and  from  New  York;  at  Pine 
9 


130  IN    OLD   NEW    YORK 

Street  and  Broadway,  on  the  uneven  hours  all 
day.  The  custom  was  to  send  to  the  stage  office 
to  engage  a  seat  to  town  ;  and  then  the  stage 
would  call  for  the  passenger,  announcement  be- 
ing made  of  its  approach — so  that  the  passenger 
might  be  ready  and  no  time  lost — by  noble  blasts 
upon  a  horn.  The  fare  each  way  was  twenty-five 
cents.  One  of  the  freshest  and  most  delightful 
of  my  old  gentlemen  remembers  it  all  as  clear- 
ly as  though  it  were  but  yesterday — beginning 
with  his  mother's  brisk,  "  Now,  Dan,  run  up  to 
Asa's  and  tell  him  to  send  the  eight  -  o'clock 
stage  here";  continuing  with  a  faint  burst  of 
horn-blowing  in  the  distance  which  grew  louder 
and  louder  until  it  stopped  with  a  flourish  at  the 
very  door;  and  ending  with  the  stage  disappear- 
ing, to  the  accompaniment  of  a  gallant  tooting 
growing  fainter  and  fainter,  in  a  cloird  of  dust 
down  the  country  road. 

This  country  road  was  the  present  Greenwich 
Street  south  of  Leroy.  It  was  on  Leroy  Street 
that  my  old  gentleman  lived,  seventy  years  and 
more  ago,  and  all  about  his  home  were  open 
fields.  Eastward  the  view  was  unobstructed 
quite  across  to  Washington  Square  —  as  he 
knows  positively  because  he  remembers  seeing 
from  his  own  front  stoop  the  gallows  which  was 
set  up  (near  the  present  Washington  Arch)  for 
the  execution  of  one  Rose  Butler,  a  negro  wench 
who  was  hanged  for  murder  in  the  year  1822. 
(Another  of  my  elderly  acquaintances  remembers 
stealing  away  from  home  and  going  to  this  very 


2 
O 

to 

4- 


w 

C/J 

H 
H 


H 

tr. 

H 


GREENWICH    VILLAGE  133 

hanging — and  coming  back  so  full  of  it  that  he 
could  not  keep  his  own  secret,  and  so  was  most 
righteously  and  roundly  spanked  !) 

South  of  Leroy  Street  was  open  country  as  far 
as  Canal  Street,  "  and  probably  farther"  ;  but  my 
gentleman  is  less  certain,  because  there  was  no 
convenient  gallows  in  that  direction  to  fix  a 
limit  to  his  view.  On  this  head,  however,  there 
is  abundant  evidence.  Mr.  Peter  Gassner,  treat- 
ing of  a  period  a  little  earlier — about  the  year 
1803 — writes:  "  Corri,  another  Frenchman,  had 
a  mead-garden  and  flying-horses  on  the  eminence 
between  Franklin  and  Leonard  streets.  It  was 
at  least  fifty  feet  from  [above]  the  road.  You 
got  to  it  by  wooden  stairs;  and,  when  up,  would 
overlook  the  space  to  Greenwich — nothing  occu- 
pying the  space  until  you  met  Borrowson's  and 
old  Tyler's,  both  mead -gardens  and  taverns." 
And  the  precise  Mr.  John  Randel,  Jun.  —  engi- 
neer to  the  Commissioners  by  whom  was  pre- 
pared, under  the  act  of  April  13,  1807,  the  pres- 
ent City  Plan — writes  that  in  the  year  1809  he 
daily  crossed  the  ditch  at  Canal  Street  on  a 
wooden  plank,  and  walked  thence  nearly  the 
whole  distance  to  Christopher  Street  through 
open  fields. 

The  precise  Mr.  Randel  recalls  these  facts  in 
connection  with  a  celebrity  —  perhaps  I  should 
say  a  notoriety — who  lived  in  Greenwich  at  that 
period,  and  who  died  in  the  village  on  the  8th  of 
June  in  the  year  just  named.  This  was  the  au- 
thor of   The  Age  of  Reason,  Tom    Paine.     The 


134  IN   OLD    NEW    YORK 

Commissioners  at  that  time  had  their  office  at 
the  corner  of  Christopher  and  Herring  (now 
Bleecker)  streets  ;  and  Paine,  together  with  Ma- 
dame Bonneville  and  her  two  sons,  were  lodged 
in  a  house  close  by  on  Herring  Street  between 
Christopher  and  Jones  —  a  fortunate  juxtaposi- 
tion, since  it  caused  Mr.  Randel  to  leave  behind 
him  this  quaint  record  of  his  eminent  infidel 
neighbor :  "  1  boarded  in  the  city,"  he  writes, 
"and  in  going  to  the  office  I  almost  daily  passed 
the  house  in  Herring  Street  (now  293  Bleecker) 
where  Thomas  Paine  resided,  and  frequently  in 
fair  weather  saw  him  sitting  at  the  south  window 
of  the  first-story  room  of  that  house.  The  sash 
was  raised,  and  a  small  table  or  stand  was  placed 
before  him  with  an  open  book  placed  upon  it 
which  he  appeared  to  be  reading.  He  had  his 
spectacles  on,  his  left  elbow  rested  upon  the  ta- 
ble or( stand,  and  his  chin  rested  between  the 
thumb  and  fingers  of  his  hand ;  his  right  hand 
lay  upon  his  book,  and  a  decanter  containing  liq- 
uor of  the  color  of  rum  or  brandy  was  standing 
next  his  book  or  beyond  it.  I  never  saw  Thomas 
Paine  at  any  other  place  or  in  any  other  posi- 
tion." 

In  the  last  month  of  Paine's  life,  in  order  to 
make  him  more  comfortable  than  was  possible 
in  a  lodging-house,  Madame  Bonneville  hired  a 
small  frame  dwelling  —  standing  deep  in  the 
block,  and  but  a  stone's- throw  from  that  in 
which  they  then  were  living — and  removed  him 
thither.     The  main  building  of  this  house  stood 


i 


X 

> 

* 

w 

■-T. 

H 

pa 
W 


GREENWICH    VILLAGE  137 

on  land  that  now  is  a  part  of  Grove  Street.  The 
street  was  opened  shortly  after  Paine's  death 
(having  first  the  name  of  Cozine;  later,  Colum- 
bia; still  later,  Burrows;  and,  finally,  Grove),  and 
then  was  deflected  out  of  line  so  as  to  leave  the 
house  standing.  In  the  year  1836  the  street  was 
widened  and  straightened,  and  then  the  whole 
of  the  main  building  was  destroyed.  The  back 
building,  in  which  Paine  died,  remained  until  a 
much  later  period  ;  and  then  was  replaced  by 
the  present  brick  dwelling,  No.  59.  The  pres- 
ent Barrow  Street — running  parallel  with  Grove, 
and  opened  between  Herring  (Bleecker)  and  Asy- 
lum (West  Fourth)  about  the  same  time — was 
known  for  a  time  as  Raisin  Street ;  and  this  name 
was  a  corruption  of  Reason  Street — given  to  it 
by  the  Commissioners  in  compliment  to  the 
author  of  Common  Sense,  who  was  their  near 
neighbor  in  Greenwich  Village  for  more  than  a 
year. 

It  was  during  Paine's  last  days  in  the  little 
house  in  Greenwich  that  two  worthy  divines,  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Milledollar  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Cunning- 
ham, sought  to  bring  him  to  a  realizing  sense  of 
the  error  of  his  ways.  Their  visitation  was  not  a 
success.  "  Don't  let  'em  come  here  again,"  he 
said,  curtly,  to  his  house-keeper,  Mrs.  Hedden, 
when  they  had  departed  ;  and  added  :  "  They 
trouble  me."  In  pursuance  of  this  order,  when 
they  returned  to  the  attack,  Mrs.  Hedden  de- 
nied them  admission — saying  with  a  good  deal  of 
piety,  and  with  even  more  common-  sense  :  "If 


138  IN    OLD    NEW   YORK 

God  does  not  change  his  mind,  I'm  sure  no  hu- 
man can  !"  And  so  this  sturdy  sceptic  was  left 
to  die  peacefully  in  his  unfaith. 


VI 

What  tended  most  to  develop  Greenwich  into 
a  town — a  cause  more  potent  than  its  embryotic 
trade  in  lumber,  its  very  small  ferry,  and  its  ex- 
plosive prison,  all  combined  —  was  its  positive 
healthfulness ;  and  the  consequent  security  which 
it  offered  to  refugees  from  the  city  when  pesti- 
lence was  abroad.  The  salubrity  of  this  region 
(which  is  as  marked  now,  relatively,  as  it  was  a 
century  ago)  is  due  to  its  excellent  natural  drain- 
age, and  to  the  fact  that  its  underlying  soil  to  a 
depth  of  at  least  fifty  feet  is  a  pure  sand.  In 
former  times  the  sanitary  conditions  were  still 
more  favorable  —  when  the  ample  space  about 
the  scattered  houses  assured  an  abundance  of 
fresh  air,  and  when  the  stretch  of  more  than  a 
mile  of  open  country  between  the  village  and  the 
city  constituted  a  barrier  which  no  pestilence  but 
small-pox  ever  overcame. 

It  is  in  connection  with  small-pox  that  I  find 
the  first  reference  to  Greenwich  as  a  place  of  ref- 
uge. This  occurs  in  a  letter  dated  April  18,  1739, 
from  Lieutenant-Governor  Clarke  to  the  Duke  of 
Newcastle,  beginning :  "  I  beg  leave  to  inform 
your  Grace  that,  the  Small  Pox  being  in  town, 
and  one  third  part  of  the  Assembly  not  having 


NO.   135    WASHINGTON    PLACE 


had  it,  I  gave  them  leave  to  sit  at  Greenwich,  a 
small  village  about  two  or  three  miles  out  of 
town."  In  this  case,  however,  safety  was  not  se- 
cured— for  "  the  Small  Pox  "  went  along  with  the 
Assemblymen  to  Greenwich  and  sat  there  too. 

It  is  hard  to  realize  nowadays  the  deadliness 
of  those  early  times  in  New  York — before  small- 
pox was  controlled  by  vaccination  and  before  yel- 
low-fever was  guarded  against  by  a  tolerably  ef- 
fective system  of  quarantine.     Judging  from  the 


14°  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

newspaper  references  to  it,  small -pox  seems  to 
have  been  a  regular  feature  of  every  winter; 
while  yellow-fever  was  so  frequent  a  visitor  that 
Mr.  John  Lambert,  in  his  sketch  of  New  York  in 
the  year  1807,  wrote:  "The  malignant,  or  yel- 
low, fever  generally  commences  in  the  confined 
parts  of  the  town,  near  the  water-side,  in  the 
month  of  August  or  September."  And  to  this, 
still  in  the  same  matter-of-course  manner,  Mr. 
Lambert  added  :  "  As  soon  as  this  dreadful 
scourge  makes  its  appearance  in  New  York  the 
inhabitants  shut  up  their  shops  and  fly  from 
their  houses  into  the  country.  Those  who  can- 
not go  far,  on  account  of  business,  remove  to 
Greenwich,  a  small  village  situate  on  the  border 
of  the  Hudson  River  about  two  or  three  miles 
from  town.  Here  the  merchants  and  others  have 
their  offices,  and  carry  on  their  concerns  with  lit- 
tle danger  from  the  fever,  which  does  not  seem 
to  be  contagious  beyond  a  certain  distance.  The 
banks  and  other  public  offices  also  remove  their 
business  to  this  place ;  and  markets  are  regularly 
established  for  the  supply  of  the  inhabitants. 
Very  few  are  left  in  the  confined  parts  of  the 
town  except  the  poorer  classes  and  the  negroes. 
The  latter,  not  being  affected  by  the  fever,  are  of 
great  service  at  that  dreadful  crisis ;  and  are  the 
only  persons  who  can  be  found  to  discharge  the 
hazardous  duties  of  attending  the  sick  and  bury- 
ing the  dead.  Upward  of  20,000  people  re- 
moved from  the  interior  parts  of  the  city  and 
from  the  streets  near  the  water-side  in  1805." 


A   WINTER   NIGHT   IN   GROVE  STREET 


' •.      '  '.' 


GREENWICH    VILLAGE  143 

Yellow-fever  seems  to  have  been  epidemic  for 
the  first  time  in  New  York  in  the  summer  of 
1703.  It  was  not  recognized  as  yellow-fever,  and 
is  referred  to  in  the  records  of  the  time  as  "  the 
great  sickness";  but  from  the  description  given 
of  it,  coupled  with  the  fact  that  the  infection  was 
traced  to  a  ship  come  in  from  St.  Thomas,  there 
is  little  room  for  doubt  in  regard  to  the  nature 
of  the  disease.  The  mortality  was  so  consider- 
able that  a  panic  seized  upon  the  inhabitants  of 
the  city,  and  they  fled  to  the  country  for  safety — 
thus  establishing  the  habit  to  which  Mr.  Lambert 
refers  as  being  fixed  so  firmly  a  century  later  on. 
Again,  in  the  summers  of  1742  and  1743  there  was 
"  a  malignant  epidemic  strongly  resembling  the 
yellow -fever  in  type,"  which  caused  upward  of 
two  hundred  deaths  in  the  latter  year. 

But  the  most  severe  fever  summers  of  the  last 
century  came  close  together  in  its  final  decade. 
Of  these  the  first  was  1791,  in  which  the  death- 
rate  was  comparatively  low;  the  second,  1795, 
was  more  severe,  the  deaths  rising  to  upward  of 
seven  hundred;  while  in  the  course  of  the  third, 
1798  (when  more  than  two  thousand  deaths  oc- 
curred, and  the  city  was  forsaken  by  its  inhabi- 
tants and  commerce  for  a  time  was  crushed),  the 
fever  became  an  overwhelming  calamity.  While 
the  panic  lasted,  not  only  Greenwich  but  all  the 
towns  and  villages  roundabout  were  crowded  with 
refugees. 

The  epidemics  of  fever  which  appeared  with 
great  frequency  during  the  first   quarter  of  the 


144 


IN    OLD   NEW    YORK 


present  century  culminated  in  the  direful  summer 
of  1822 — when,  under  stress  of  the  worst  panic 
ever  caused  by  fever  in  this  city,  the  town  fairly 
exploded  and  went  flying  beyond  its  borders  as 
though  the  pestilence  had  been  a  bursting  mine. 
Hardie  gives  the  following  vivid  sketch  of  the 
exodus:  "Saturday,  the  24th  August,  our  city 
presented  the  appearance  of  a  town  besieged. 
From  daybreak  till  night  one  line  of  carts,  con- 
taining boxes,  merchandise,  and  effects,  were  seen 
moving  towards  Greenwich  Village  and  the  upper 
parts  of  the  city.  Carriages  and  hacks,  wagons 
and  horsemen,  were  scouring  the  streets  and  fill- 
ing the  roads;  persons  with  anxiety  strongly 
marked  on  their  countenances,  and  with  hurried 
gait,  were  hustling  through  the  streets.  Tem- 
porary stores  and  offices  were  erecting,  and  even 
on  the  ensuing  day  (Sunday)  carts  were  in  mo- 
tion, and  the  saw  and  hammer  busily  at  work. 
Within  a  few  days  thereafter  the  Custom-house, 
the  Post-office,  the  banks,  the  insurance  offices, 
and  the  printers  of  newspapers  located  themselves 
in'  the  village  or  in  the  upper  part  of  Broadway, 
where  they  were  free  from  the  impending  danger; 
and  these  places  almost  instantaneously  became 
the  seat  of  the  immense  business  usually  carried 
on  in  the  great  metropolis." 

Devoe,  who  quotes  the  above  in  his  Market 
Book,  adds:  "The  visits  of  yellow-fever  in  1798, 
'99,  1803,  and  '5,  tended  much  to  increase  the  for- 
mation of  a  village  near  the  Spring  Street  Market 
and  one  also  near  the  State  Prison  ;  but  the  fever 


146  IN    OLD    NEW, YORK 

of  1822  built  up  many  streets  with  numerous 
wooden  buildings  for  the  uses  of.  the  merchants, 
banks  (from  which  Bank  Street  took  its  name), 
offices,,  etc. ;  and  the  celerity  of  putting  up  these 
buildings  is  better  told  by  the  Rev'd  Mr.  Mar- 
selusr  who  informed  me  that  he  saw  corn  grow- 
ing on  the  present  corner  of  Hammond  [West 
Eleventh]  and  Fourth  streets  on  a  Saturday 
morning,  and  on  the  following  Monday  Sykes  & 
Niblo  had  a  house  erected  capable  of  accommo- 
dating three  hundred  boarders.  Even  the  Brook- 
lyn ferry-boats  ran  up  here  daily." 

Among  the  more  notable  of  the  remnants  of 
the  time  when  the  Greenwich  region  for  the  most 
part  was  open  country  are  those  at  the  southeast 
corner  of  Eleventh  Street  and  the  Sixth  Avenue: 
the  little  triangular  graveyard  and  the  two  old 
framed  dwellings  which  now  rest  on  the  lines  of 
the  street  and  the  avenue,  but  which  primitively 
stood — a  few  feet  from  their  present  site  —  on* 
the  now  almost  obliterated  Milligan's  Lane. 

The  triangular  graveyard  is  a  remnant  of  the 
second  Beth  Haim,  or  Place  of  Rest,  owned  on 
this  island  by  the  Jews.  The  first  Beth  Haim — 
purchased  in  1681  and  enlarged  in  1729 — is  on 
the  line  of  the  elevated  railway  just  south  of 
Chatham  Square.  This  was  closed  early  in  the 
present  century,  and  then  the  Beth  Haim  at 
Greenwich  was  purchased — a  plot  of  ground  with 
a  front  of  about  fifty  feet  on  Milligan's  Lane,  and 
thence  extending,  a  little  east  of  south,  about  one 
hundred  and  ten  feet.     In  the  year  1830,  when 


GREENWICH    VILLAGE  1 47 

Eleventh  Street  was  opened  on  the  lines  of  the 
City  Plan — saving  only  the  bit  between  Broad- 
way and  the  Bowery,  on  which  stood  the  house 
of  the  stiff-necked  Mr.  Henry  Brevoort — almost 
the  whole  of  the  Jewish  burial-ground  was  swept 
away.  The  street  went  directly  across  it — leav- 
ing only  the  corner  on  its  south  side,  and  a  still 
smaller  corner  on  its  north  side. 


VII 

Greenwich  Village  always  has  been  to  me  the 
most  attractive  portion  of  New  York.  It  has  the 
positive  individuality,  the  age,  much  of  the  pict- 
uresqueness,  of  that  fascinating  region  of  which 
the  centre  is  Chatham  Square;  yet  it  is  agree- 
ably free  from  the  foul  odors  and  the  foul  hu- 
manity which  make  expeditions  in  the  vicinity  of 
Chatham  Square,  while  abstractly  delightful,  so 
stingingly  distressing  to  one's  nose  and  soul. 

Greenwich  owes  its  picturesqueness  to  the  pro- 
tecting spirit  of  grace  which  has  saved  its  streets 
from  being  rectangular  and  its  houses  from  being 
all  alike;  and  which  also  has  preserved  its  many 
quaintnesses  and  beauties  of  age — with  such  re- 
sulting blessings  as  the  view  around  the  curve 
in  Grove  Street  towards  St  Luke's  Church,  or 
under  the  arch  of  trees  where  Grove  and  Christo- 
pher streets  are  mitred  together  by  the  little 
park,  and  the  many  friendly  old  houses  which 
stand   squarely  on   their  right   to  be  individual 


148  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

and  have  their  own  opinion  of  the  rows  of  mod- 
ern dwellings  all  made  of  precisely  the  same  ma- 
terial cast  in  precisely  the  same  mould. 

The  cleanliness,  moral  and  physical,  of  the  vil- 
lage is  accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  from  the 
very  beginning  it  has  been  inhabited  by  a  human- 
ity of  the  better  sort.  From  Fourteenth  Street 
down  to  Canal  Street,  west  of  the  meridian  of  the 
Sixth  Avenue,  distinctively  is  the  American  quar- 
ter of  New  York.  A  sprinkling  of  French  and 
Italians  is  found  within  these  limits,  together 
with  the  few  Irish  required  for  political  purposes; 
and  in  the  vicinity  of  Carmine  Street  are  scat- 
tered some  of  the  tents  of  Jhe  children  of  Ham. 
But  with  these  exceptions  the  population  is  com- 
posed of  substantial,  well-to-do  Americans — and 
it  really  does  one's  heart  good,  on  the  Fourth  of 
July  and  the  22d  of  February,  to  see  the  way  the 
owners  of  the  roomy,  comfortable  houses  which 
here  abound  proclaim  their  nationality  by  setting 
the  trim  streets  of  Greenwich  gallantly  ablaze 
with  American  flags.  As  compared  with  the  cor- 
responding region  on  the  east  side  —  where  a 
score  of  families  may  be  found  packed  into  a 
single  building,  and  where  even  the  bad  smells 
have  foreign  names — this  American  quarter  of 
New  York  is  a  liberal  lesson  in  cleanliness,  good 
citizenship,  and  self-respect. 

And  how  interesting  are  the  people  whom  one 

hereabouts  encounters  (with  but  the  most  trifling 

effort  of  the  imagination)  stepping  along  the  an- 

•  cient  thoroughfares  which  once  knew  them  in  ma- 


<         I  (     ' 


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*       *  -  # 


GREENWICH    VILLAGE  151 

terial  form  ! — Wouter  Van  Twiller,  chuckling  over 
his  easily  won  tobacco  plantation  ;  the  Labadist 
envoys,  rejoicing  because  of  their  discovery  of  a 
country  permissive  of  liberty  of  conscience  and 
productive  of  good  beer ;  General  Ol.  De  Lan- 
cey — wearing  the  Tory  uniform  which  later  cost 
him  his  patrimony — taking  the  air  with  his  sister, 
Lady  Warren,  the  stout,  bewigged  Sir  Peter,  and 
the  three  little  girls ;  Governor  Clinton,  with  the 
harried  look  of  one  upon  whom  an  advance-copy 
of  the  Declaration  of  Independence  has  been 
served  ;  Senator  Richard  Henry  Lee,  of  Virginia, 
who  honored  Greenwich  by  making  it  his  home 
during  the  session  of  Congress  in  1789;  Master 
Tom  Paine — escaped  from  Madame  Bonneville 
and  the  little  boys  in  the  house  in  Grove  Street 
— on  his  way  to  the  Old  Grapevine  for  a  fresh 
jug  of  rum  ;  Friend  Jacob  Barker,  looking  with 
satisfaction  at  the  house  in  Jane  Street  bought 
by  the  butcher  who  had  enough  faith  in  the 
shrewd  old  Quaker  to  take  the  doubtful  notes  of 
his  bank  at  par.  Only  in  Greenwich,  or  below 
the  City  Hall — a  region  over-noisy  for  wraiths — 
will  one  meet  agreeable  spectres  such  as  these. 


DOWN    LOVE   LANE 


AS  all  the  world  knows  —  barring,  of  course, 
that  small  portion  of  the  world  which  is  not 
familiar  with  old  New  York — the  Kissing  Bridge 
of  a  #century  ago  was  on  the  line  of  the  Boston 
Post  Road  (almost  precisely  at  the  intersection 
of  the  Third  Avenue  and  Seventy-seventh  Street 
of  the  present  day),  about  four  miles  out  of  town. 
And  all  the  world,  without  any  exception  what- 
ever, must  know  that  after  crossing  a  kissing- 
bridge  the  ridiculously  short  distance  of  four 
miles  is  no  distance  at  all.  Fortunately  for  the 
lovers  of  that  period,  it  was  possible  to  go  round- 
about from  the  Kissing  Bridge  to  New  York  by 
a  route  which  very  agreeably  prolonged  the  oscu- 
pontine  situation  :  that  is  to  say,  by  the  Abingdon 
Road,  close  on  the  line  of  the  present  Twenty- 
first  Street,  to  the  Fitzroy  Road,  nearly  paral- 
lel from  Fifteenth  Street  to  Forty-second  Street 
with  the  present  Eighth  Avenue ;  thence  down 
to  the  Great  Kiln  Road,  on  the  line  of  the  pres- 
ent Gansevoort  Street ;  thence  to  the  Greenwich 
Road,  on  the  line  of  the  present  Greenwich  Street 
— and  so,  along  the  river-side,  comfortably  slowly 
back  to  town. 


DOWN    LOVE    LANE  1 53 

It  is  a  theory  of  my  own  that  the  Abingdon 
Road  received  a  more  romantic  name  because  it 
was  the  first  section  of  this  devious  departure 
from  the  strait  path  leading  townward  into  the 
broad  way  which  certainly  led  quite  around  Rob- 
in Hood's  barn,  and  may  also  have  led  to  de- 
struction, but  which  bloomed  with  the  potenti- 
ality of  a  great  many  extra  kisses  wherewith  the 
Kissing  Bridge  (save  as  a  point  of  departure)  had 
nothing  in  the  world  to  do.  I  do  not  insist  upon 
my  theory ;  but  I  state  as  an  undeniable  fact  that 
in  the  latter  half  of  the  last  century  the  Abingdon 
Road  was  known  generally — and,  I  infer  from  con- 
temporary allusions  to  it,  favorably — as  Love  Lane. 

To  avoid  confusion,  and  also  to  show  how  nec- 
essary were  such  amatory  appurtenances  to  the 
gentle-natured  inhabitants  of  this  island  in  earlier 
times,  I  must  here  state  that  the  primitive  Kiss- 
ing Bridge  was  in  that  section  of  the  Post  Road 
which  now  is  Chatham  Street ;  and  that  in  this 
same  vicinity — on  the  Rutgers  estate — was  the 
primitive  Love  Lane.  It  was  of  the  older  insti- 
tution that  an  astute  and  observant  traveller,  in 
this  country,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Burnaby,  wrote  in 
his  journal  a  century  and  a  half  ago:  "Just  be- 
fore you  enter  the  town  there  is  a  little  bridge, 
commonly  called  '  the  kissing-bridge,'  where  it  is 
customary,  before  passing  beyond,  to  salute  the 
lady  who  is  your  companion  " — to  which  custom 
the  reverend  gentleman  seems  to  have  taken 
with  a  very  tolerable  relish,  and  to  have  found 
u  curious,  yet  not  displeasing." 


154  IN    OLD    NEW  YORK 

The  later  Love  Lane,  the  one  with  which  I  am 
now  concerned,  was  but  little  travelled — being, 
primarily,  the  approach  from  the  highway  to 
Captain  Clarke's  estate  known  as  Chelsea — and 
for  a  good  many  years  lovers  had  the  chief  use 
of  it  •  yet  was  it  used  also  a  little  by  polite  socie- 
ty taking  the  air  of  fine  summer  afternoons :  up 
the  Bloomingdale  Road  to  this  turning,  thence 
across  to  the  river-side,  and  so  homeward  to  New 
York,  being  one  of  the  longest  of  the  ordinary  af- 
ternoon drives. 

To  the  south  of  the  lane  lay  the  estate — ex- 
tending from  the  present  Broadway  to  the  pres- 
ent Eighth  Avenue — that  was  presented  by  the 
Corporation  to  Captain  Warren,  afterwards  Ad- 
miral Sir  Peter  Warren,  in  the  year  1745,  in 
grateful  recognition,  ostensibly,  of  his  capture  of 
Louisburg;  but  really,  I  fancy,  because  a  good 
many  of  the  leading  citizens  were  under  obliga- 
tions to  him  of  one  sort  or  another  for  benefits, 
derived  from  the  many  prizes  which  he  had  sent 
into  this  port  to  be  condemned.  Later,  when 
the  whole  of  the  Warren  estate  was  partitioned, 
two  roads  were  opened  out  from  the  Abingdon 
Road  across  this  northern  portion  of  the  proper- 
ty. The  first  of  these,  known  as  the  Southamp- 
ton Road  (Sir  Peter's  second  daughter,  Ann, 
married  Charles  Fitzroy,  who  later  became  the 
Baron  of  Southampton :  his  eldest  daughter, 
Charlotte,  married  the  Earl  of  Abingdon),  was  a 
continuation  of  the  Great  Kiln  Road  from — to 
use  existing  designations — the  Seventh  Avenue 


DOWN    LOVE    LANE  »  155 

and  Fifteenth  Street  to  Eighteenth  Street  just 
east  of  the  Sixth  Avenue,  and  thence  parallel 
with  the  Sixth  Avenue  to  the  northern  side  of 
Twenty-first  Street.  The  second,  known  as  the 
Warren  Road,  left  the  Southampton  Road  at 
Sixteenth  Street  and  ran  parallel  with,  and  a  lit- 
tle to  the  east  of,  the  Seventh  Avenue,  also  to 
Twenty-first  Street. 

At  Twenty-first  Street  and  Broadway  there  is 
nothing  now  to  suggest  that  ever  a  Love  Lane 
was  thereabouts;  and  the  Fifth  Avenue  crossing 
of  Twenty-first  Street — with  a  huge  nine-story 
building  on  one  side  and  the  traditionally  re- 
spectable Union  Club  on  the  other — presents  so 
forbidding  an  appearance  that  the  searcher  after 
traces  of  these  old-time  by-ways  well  may  be 
induced  to  abandon  at  the  very  outset,  all  un- 
timely, his  gentle  quest.  But  he  who  hunts  for 
ancient  landmarks  must  not  be  discouraged  easi- 
ly* and  this  particular  hunt,  in  the  happy  end, 
reveals  so  astonishingly  large  a  survival  that  the 
sadness  of  the  beginning  is  swept  away  and  lost 
in  a  flood  of  genuine  antiquarian  joy.  The  fact, 
indeed,  really  is  extraordinary  that  this  part  of 
the  city — which  has  the  appearance  to  the  ordi- 
nary observer  of  being  essentially  modern  and 
uninteresting — should  so  teem  with  signs  and 
relics  of  a  truly  interesting  past. 


II 

The  first  traces  of  the  Abingdon  Road,  other- 
wise Love  Lane,  found  in  West  Twenty- first 
Street  are  the  little  two-story  brick  houses,  Nos. 
25,  27,  which  stand  back  from  the  street  and  af- 
fect a  rural  and  cottage-like  air  on  an  insufficient 
capital  of  narrow  veranda.  These  houses  cer- 
tainly were  built  after  the  present  City  Plan  had 
been  adopted  (181 1);  and  probably  were  built 
not  much  more  than  forty  years  ago — a  little  af- 
ter the  creation  of  London  Terrace  had  sent  into 
this  bit  of  country-side  a  premature  thrill  of  spec- 
ulative activity.  Yet  while  thus  essentially  mod- 
ern, they  cling  affectionately — using  their  meagre 
verandas  and  village-like  front  yards  as  tentacles 
— to  the  traditions  of  a  really  rural  past. 

Only  a  little  farther  westward  is  a  row  of  three 
houses,  Nos.  51,  53,  55,  which  very  obviously  be- 
long to  the  period  to  which  the  others  only  aspire. 
They  are  built  of  brick,  are  very  small,  and  are 
only  two  stories  and  a  half  high :  and  seem  still 
lower  because  the  grade  of  the  present  street  act- 
ually is  two  or  three  inches  above  the  level  of  the 
ground-floor.  Even  yet  in  the  rear  of  the  little 
houses  are  deep  gardens  in  which  are  genuine 
vines  and,  as  a  theatrical  person  would  style 
them,  practicable  trees.  They  are  the  delight, 
these  gardens,  of  the  present  French  inhabitants 
of  the  tiny  dwellings:    as  any  passer-by  about 


»    «     c  _J 


A  CHELSEA  DOORWAY 


DOWN    LOVE    LANE  1 59 

noon-time  of  a  fine  summer's  day  may  see  for 
himself,  with  no  more  trouble  than  is  involved  in 
looking  through  one  of  the  open  front  doors, 
down  a  tunnel-like  passage,  to  the  sunny  open 
space  in  the  rear  —  where  he  will  behold  (sur- 
rounded by  conspicuous  evidences  of  clear-starch- 
ing) a  gay  Gallic  company  breakfasting  under  its 
own  vine  and  ailantus-tree  with  such  honest  light- 
headedness as  can  be  manifested  only  by  French 
folk  eating  something — eating  almost  anything — 
out-of-doors. 

At  first  these  houses  were  a  bit  of  a  mystery 
to  me.  I  could  not  understand  why,  especially, 
they  should  be  just  there.  But  a  reference  to  the 
Commissioners'  map  explained  that  they  had  been 
built  upon  what  once  was  an  eligible  corner  lot — 
at  the  very  point,  in  fact,  where  the  Southampton 
Road  came  into  Love  Lane.  It  has  occurred  to 
me  that  the  three  little  houses  may  have  been, 
originally,  a  single  house  which  served  as  a  road- 
side tavern.  Here  would  have  been  almost  pre- 
cisely the  half-way  point  in  the  long  drive  out 
from  town  and  back  again  of  an  afternoon  ;  and 
at  this  particular  corner — the  Southampton  Road 
being  a  short-cut  down  to  Greenwich  and  across 
to  the  Great  Kiln  Road — would  have  been  inter- 
cepted the  whole  procession  of  thirsty  wayfarers. 
Possibly,  the  tavern  prospering,  the  tavern-keeper 
may  have  built  out  of  his  profits  the  large  house, 
with  quaint  windows  in  the  gable  of  its  weather- 
boarded  side,  which  still  stands  at  the  northeast 
corner  of  Twenty-first  Street  and  the  Sixth  Ave- 


160  IN    OLD    NEW  YORK 

nue;  and  thereto  may  have  retired,  when  suffi- 
ciently enriched  by  his  genial  trade,  to  spend  in 
luxurious  idleness  the  Indian  summer  of  his  alco- 
holic days. 

West  of  the  Sixth  Avenue  is  a  large  open  space 
which  testifies  silently  yet  strongly  to  the  time 
when  all  this  part  of  the  island  was  quiet  country- 
side and  the  city  still  was  very  far  away.  It  is 
the  Jewish  graveyard — the  Beth  Haim,  or  Place 
of  Rest.  Sixty  years  and  more  ago  the  Beth 
Haim  at  Greenwich  was  swept  away  (save  the 
little  corner  which  still  remains  east  of  the  Sixth 
Avenue)  by  the  opening  of  Eleventh  Street. 
Then  it  was  that  the  Beth  Haim  was  estab- 
lished here  —  on  a  lot  which  possessed  the  ad- 
vantages of  lying  within  one  of  the  blocks  of  the 
new  City  Plan,  and  therefore  was  safe  against 
the  opening  of  new  streets,  and  which  also  could 
be  reached  by  an  already  opened  country  road. 
Although  long  since  superseded  by  the  Beth 
Haim  on  Long  Island,  this  graveyard  still  is 
cared  for  zealously — as  may  be  seen  by  looking 
from  the  back  windows  of  the  big  dry -goods 
shop  on  the  Sixth  Avenue  upon  its  rows  of 
seemly  monuments,  whereon  are  legends  in  He- 
brew characters  telling  of  "Rest"  and  "Peace." 
And,  truly,  looking  out  from  the  bustle  and 
clamor  of  the  shop  upon  the  grassy  quiet  place, 
with  its  ivy  clad  dead-house  and  its  long  lines 
of  marble  gravestones  whereof  the  whiteness 
has  become  gray  as  the  years  have  gone  on  and 
on,  there  is  a   most   pleasant  sense  of  rest  and 


I  I" 


»     "   1J 


» 


DOWN    LOVE    LANE  1 63 

peacefulness  amid  this  calm  serenity  of  ancient 
death. 

Save  for  the  graveyard,  there  is  no  sign  —  at 
least,  I  have  not  found  any  sign  —  between  the 
Sixth  and  Seventh  avenues  of  the  old  country 
road.  In  this  block  Love  Lane  seems  to  have 
been  ploughed  under  completely.  The  houses 
on  both  sides  of  the  street,  having  still  about  them 
an  air  of  decayed  smugness,  date  from  the  period, 
thirty  years  or  so  ago,  when  West  Twenty-third 
Street  was  pluming  itself  (vastly  to  the  amuse- 
ment of  Second  Avenue  and  Gramercy  Park  and 
Stuyvesant  and  Washington  squares)  upon  being 
quite  the  smartest  street  of  the  town  ;  and  when 
Twenty-first  and  Twenty-second  streets,  catching 
a  little  reflected  glory  from  this  near-by  glitter  of 
fashion,  exalted  their  horns  above  horns  in  gen- 
eral and  gave  audible  thanks  that  they  were  not 
at  all  as  were  the  other  streets  over  on  that  part 
of  the  West  Side.  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore, 
that  from  this  section  of  Twenty-first  Street  the 
modest  memory  of  Love  Lane  should  have  dis- 
appeared. 

The  trail  shows  again  in  the  middle  of  the  next 
block,  between  the  Seventh  and  Eighth  avenues, 
in  the  little  houses  standing  far  back  from  the 
present  street  in  deep  yards.  But  the  most  con- 
spicuous house  in  the  block — the  large  dwelling 
standing  in  its  own  grounds  and  having  so  quaint 
and  so  agreeably  dignified  an  air  that  one  instantly 
is  disposed  to  classify  it  as  a  survival  from  the 
beginning  of  the  present  century — is  not  an  an- 


164  IN    OLD    NEW  YORK 

tique  at  all.  Actually,  it  was  built  but  twenty- 
five  or  thirty  years  ago;  and  its  owner,  being  a 
boss-mason — the  builder  of  the  Fourth  Avenue 
tunnel — built  it  for  himself  according  to  his  own 
notions  and  in  his  own  way.  Though  a  large 
house,  it  is  not  at  all  a  grand  one ;  but  there  is 
not  a  house  in  New  York  that  excels  it  in  the 
matter  of  positive  individuality.  It  is  delightful 
to  see  how  much  meaning  and  character  its  build- 
er contrived  to  put  into  it  while  yet  employing 
only  simple  means.  He  is  dead,  this  excellent 
boss-mason  ;  but  in  the  long  stable  beside  the 
mansion-house  still  is  preserved  his  original  kit 
of  mason's  tools.  Never  in  his  lifetime  would  he 
permit  them  to  be  disturbed,  and  his  wishes  con- 
cerning them  have  survived  his  death. 

For  many  years  the  Abingdon  Road — to  give  it 
at  parting  its  more  dignified  name — ended  at  the 
line  where  now  is  the  Eighth  Avenue  and  where 
then  was  the  Fitzroy  Road.  Later,  certainly  be- 
fore the  year  181 1,  it  was  carried  westward  to  the 
shore  of  the  Hudson.  But  the  weather-boarded, 
hip-roofed  house  still  extant  on  the  southwestern 
corner  of  this  ancient  crossway  is  to  be  classed 
less  as  a  survival  of  Love  Lane  than  of  Chelsea 
Village :  that  ambitious  suburb  which,  sixty 
years  or  so  ago,  made  its  somewhat  premature 
start  in  life  on  the  lines  of  the  City  Plan. 


*  rf^A*K 


A    SIDE   GATE   IN    CHELSEA 


J  « 


Ill 

"  Dead  as  Chelsea !"  is  a  phrase  which  has 
been  current  in  the  British  army  since  the  battle 
of  Fontenoy  —  when  a  British  grenadier,  of  un- 
known name  but  epigrammatic  habit,  first  used 
it  in  apostrophizing  himself  when  a  round-shot 
took  off  his  right  leg,  and  so  gave  him  his  billet 
to  the  Royal  Hospital.  That  he  rammed  an  oath 
down  on  top  of  this  observation  was  no  more 
than  natural.  A  military  authority  of  the  high- 
est— the  late  Captain  Shandy,  of  Leven's  regi- 
ment of  Foot,  who  served  in  those  very  parts 
but  a  half-century  earlier — has  left  on  record  his 
testimony  to  the  exceeding  profanity  of  the  Brit- 
ish troops  in  the  Low  Countries. 

Almost  contemporaneously  with  this  lasting  ut- 
terance of  the  Fontenoy  grenadier,  an  American 
soldier,  Captain  Thomas  Clarke,  a  veteran  officer 
of  the  Provincial  service  who  had  done*  some  very 
pretty  fighting  in  the  old  French  war,  gave  the 
name  of  Chelsea  to  his  country-seat — a  modest 
estate  on  the  shores  of  the  Hudson,  between  two 
and  three  miles  north  of  the  town  of  New  York. 
And  he  chose  this  name,  he  said,  because  the 
home  to  which  he  gave  it  was  to  be  the  retreat 
of  an  old  soldier  in  the  evening  of  his  days.  So 
nice  a  touch  was  there  of  the  fanciful  and  the  po- 
etic in  the  selection  of  such  a  name  at  a  period — 
'twas  in  the  year  1750 — when  neither  poetry  nor 


I 68  IN    OLD    NEW  YORK 

fancy  had  become  rooted  in  American  soil,  that 
one's  heart  warms  towards  this  gentle  warrior  in 
the  certainty  that  he  must  have  possessed  a  subt- 
ler and  a  finer  nature  than  fell  to  the  lot  of  most 
men  of  his  country  and  his  time. 

There  is  yet  another  touch  of  pathos  in  the 
fact  that  the  Captain,  after  all,  did  not  die  in  this 
retreat  which  he  had  hoped  would  shelter  him  un- 
til the  end.  While  his  last  illness  was  upon  him 
his  home  was  burned  to  the  ground,  and  he  him- 
self was  but  barely  saved  from  burning  with  it  by 
rescuing  neighbors,  who  carried  him  to  a  near-by 
farm-house — where  he  and  Death  came  presently 
to  terms. 

When  all  was  over,  Mistress  Molly  Clarke,  the 
Captain's  widow,  being  a  capable  and  energetic 
woman  still  in  her  prime,  set  herself  to  the  work 
of  rebuilding;  and  found,  no  doubt,  some  meas- 
ure of  comfort  and  solace  in  being  thus  busily 
employed.  The  house  then  built  was  a  large 
square  structure  of  two  stories,  standing  upon 
the  crest  of  a  little  hill  which  sloped  gently  to 
the  river-side,  a  hundred  yards  or  so  away.  In 
relation  to  the  present  City  Plan,  the  house  stood 
two  hundred  feet  or  thereabouts  west  of  the  pres- 
ent Ninth  Avenue,  with  its  northern  corner  on 
%  the  southern  line  of  Twenty-third  Street. 

Mistress  Molly,  I  fancy,  had  a  fair  allowance  of 
peppery  energy.  When  the  Revolutionary  war 
came  on  she  had  the  pluck  to  remain — with  her 
two  pretty  daughters — in  her  country-house,  al- 
though the  house  was  at  no  great  distance  from 


~->%3rt 


THE  MOORE   HOUSE 


the  American  fortified  camp.  To  her  sore  vexa- 
tion, a  squad  of  Continentals  was  billeted  upon 
her;  and  her  distress  was  so  reasonable  that  the 
officer  in  command  —  who,  likely  enough,  had 
daughters  of  his  own  at  home,  and  so  was  ten- 
derly considerate  of  her  proper  motherly  alarm — 
made  a  report  of  the  matter  to  the  commanding 
general.  A  good  deal  was  going  on  just  then  to 
engross  this  general's  attention ;  but,  being  a 
Virginian  and  a  gentleman,  he  found  time  to  ride 
over  to  Chelsea — on  that  famous  white  horse 
which  curvets  so  dashingly  in  the  background  of 
Trumbull's  picture  —  that  he  might  express  to 
Madam  Clarke  his  regret  that  she  had  been 
troubled,  and  at  the  same  time  assure  her  that 
her  trouble  was  at  an  end.  Truly,  it  was  very 
handsomely  done  ! 


170  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

While  the  American  forces  still  were  in  pos- 
session of  the  island,  and  before  the  billet  on 
Chelsea  had  been  withdrawn,  an  English  frigate 
stood  up  the  river  one  day  to  give  her  crew 
practical  exercise  at  the  guns,  and  in  the  course 
of  her  firing  pitched  a  shot  fairly  into  Mrs. 
Clarke's  dwelling;  which  shot  hurt  nobody,  but 
made  necessary  some  patch -work  carpentering 
that  ever  afterwards  showed  where  the  ball  had 
come  cracking  along.  Mistress  Molly  happened 
to  be  abroad  when  this  bit  of  military  incivility 
occurred  ;  and  her  first  news  of  it  was  from  one 
of  her  billet  of  soldiers  whom  she  met  as  she 
was  driving  home,  and  who  hailed  her  briskly 
with  the  announcement :  "  The  British  have  fired 
a  shot  into  your  house,  Mrs.  Clarke  !"  To  which 
her  ladyship  replied  instantly,  and  with  a  not 
unreasonable  bitterness:  "  Thank  you  for  that!" 
and  so  drove  homeward  in  a  fine  temper  in  her 
chaise. 

Mistress  Molly  was  near  half  a  century  be- 
hind her  Captain  in  the  eternal  march.  She  died 
in  the  year  1802.  At  her  death  the  dwelling, 
together  with  a  part  of  the  estate,  passed  to 
Bishop  Moore  and  his  wife ;  and  by  them,  in  the 
year  181 3,  was  conveyed  to  the  late  Clement  C. 
Moore,  their  son.  Upon  coming  into  possession 
of  this  last-named  gentleman  another  story  was 
added  to  the  house,  and  cellars  were  dug  be- 
neath the  old  foundation  :  in  which  reconstruct- 
ed form  the  mansion  remained  standing — within 
its  terraced  and  beautiful  grounds,  at  a  consider- 


DOWN    LOVE    LANE  171 

able  elevation  above  the  street  level — until  about 
forty  years  ago.  Possibly  this  old  house  was 
more  picturesque  than  it  was  comfortable.  Cer- 
tainly its  owner  did  not  seem  greatly  to  regret 
its  loss.  To  his  brief  history  of  the  property, 
from  which  the  facts  given  above  are  extracted, 
he  added  the  curt  statement  that  when  "  the 
corporation  of  the  city  ordered  a  bulkhead  to  be 
built  along  the  river -front  it  was  thought  ad- 
visable, if  not  absolutely  necessary,  to  dig  down 
the  whole  place  and  throw  it  into  the  river; 
when,  of  course,  the  old  house  was  destroyed." 


IV 

It  was  to  Mr.  Clement  C.  Moore  that  Chelsea 
owed  its  existence  as  a  village  a  long  while  in  ad- 
vance of  the  period  when  it  became  a  part  of  the 
city  of  New  York.  His  estate,  by  inheritance 
and  by  purchase,  extended  from  the  north  side 
of  the  present  Nineteenth  Street  to  the  south 
side  of  the  present  Twenty  -  fourth  Street,  and 
from  the  west  side  of  the  present  Eighth  Avenue 
to  the  "river.  Sixty  years  or  so  ago  he  began 
opening  through  his  property  the  existing  streets 
and  avenues  on  the  lines  of  the  City  Plan ;  and 
thereafter  he  gave  his  energies  to  founding  and 
to  fostering  his  town  —  to  which  access  from 
New  York  was  easy,  either  by  way  of  Love  Lane 
from  the  Bloomingdale  Road,  or  by  either  of  the 
roads  from  New  York  to  Greenwich  and  thence 


172  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

by  the  Fitzroy  Road  for  the  final  three-quarters 
of  a  mile. 

The  most  notable  dwellings  erected  in  that 
early  time  were  those  which  comprise  the  still 
existing  rows  on  Twenty-third  and  Twenty-fourth 
streets :  London  Terrace  and  Chelsea  Cottages, 
as  they  respectively  were,  and  continue  to  be, 
called.  The  first  of  these  is  the  row,  between 
the  Ninth  and  Tenth  avenues,  of  tall  pilastered 
houses  which  gives  one  the  impression  of  an  In- 
stitution not  very  firmly  fixed  in  its  own  mind 
and  liable  to  become  something  else,  yet  having 
an  air  both  gracious  and  friendly  because  of  its 
deep  gardens  and  many  tall  old  trees ;  and  the 
second  is  in  part  a  reproduction  of  the  pilastered 
houses  upon  a  smaller  scale,  and  in  part  chunky 
little  two -story  houses  with  little  pudgy  bay- 
windows  and  with  ornate  little  porches  over  their 
little  doors.  All  of  these  dwellings,  small  and 
large,  are  at  odds  with  their  present  city  surround- 
ings because  of  their  affectation  of  a  countrified 
air;  yet  must  they  have  been  far  more  at  odds 
with  their  surroundings  when  they  were  erected 
— being  then  remote  in  the  country,  yet  pre- 
sumptuously aping  the  manners  of  the  to\vn. 

Both  terrace  and  cottages  date  from  almost 
half  a  century  ago.  The  block  on  which  they 
stand  was  leased  by  Mr.  Moore  to  William  Tor- 
rey  on  May  1,  1845  !  and  Torrey  thereafter  built 
and  sold  the  houses  subject  to  the  lease  —  the 
owner  of  the  estate  wrisely  retaining  the  fee.  To 
a  slightly  more  remote  period  belongs  the  large 


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DOWN    LOVE    LANE  1 75 

square  brick  house  on  the  Ninth  Avenue,  be- 
tween Twentieth  and  Twenty -first  streets;  a 
house  so  citylike  that  passing  strangers  must 
have  regarded  it  as  some  trick  in  optics  when 
first  it  sprang  up  in  that  open  country-side  near 
sixty  years  ago.  And  •  now,  the  city  pressing 
close  around  it,  it  also  has  somewhat  of  a  coun- 
try air:  yet  this  is  due  mainly  to  the  ample 
reaches  of  land  about  it — a  lawn  with  a  tennis- 
court  at  one  side,  and  a  sweet-smelling  old-fash- 
ioned garden  in  the  rear. 

These  conspicuous  features  of  what  once  was 
Chelsea  Village  assert  themselves — not  offensive- 
ly, yet  with  insistence  born  of  a  proper  respect 
for  their  own  dignity — upon  the  merest  loiterer 
through  the  ancient  roadways  of  the  little  town ; 
and  even  a  few  of  the  more  modest  remnants  of 
that  earlier  period,  the  little  wooden  houses  where- 
in dwelt  folk  of  a  humbler  sort,  still  may  be  seen 
here  and  there  :  standing  back  shyly  from  the 
street  in  deep  yards,  and  having  somewhat  the 
abashed  look  of  aged  rustics  confronted  suddenly 
with  city  ways.  But  many  more  of  these  timber- 
toed  veterans — true  Chelsea  pensioners — lie  hid- 
den away  in  the  centres  of  the  blocks,  and  may 
be  found  only  by  burrowing  through  alleyways 
beneath  the  outer  line  of  prim  brick  houses  of  a 
modern  time.  Notably,  on  both  sides  of  Twen- 
tieth Street,  between  the  Seventh  and  Eighth 
avenues,  these  inner  rows  of  houses  may  be 
found;  and  west  of  the  Eighth  Avenue  on  the 
northern  side  of  the  way.     But  one  may  rest  as- 


176  IN    OLD   NEW   YORK 

sured  that  wherever,  in  any  of  the  blocks  here- 
abouts, an  alleyway  opens  there  will  be  found  an 
old  wooden  house  or  a  whole  row  of  old  wooden 
houses  at  its  inner  end. 

Geographically,  and  in  all  other  ways,  the  cen- 
tral feature  of  Chelsea  —  from  before  its  ambi- 
tiously early  essay  at  being  a  village  on  its  own 
account  even  until  this  present  day  when  it  is 
in  the  city  but  not  exactly  of  it — is  the  General 
Theological  Seminary  of  the  Protestant  Episco- 
pal Church.  To  this  institution  was  given  rent 
free  by  Clement  C.  Moore — the  good  Bishop,  his 
father,  no  doubt  having  a  share  in  the  prompting 
of  the  gift — the  whole  of  the  block  between 
Twentieth  and  Twenty-first  streets  and  the  Ninth 
and  Tenth  avenues ;  which  lot,  being  for  many 
years  only  in  small  part'  built  upon,  long  was 
known  as  Chelsea  Square.  Here  was  laid  the 
corner-stone  of  the  East  Building  of  the  Semi- 
nary on  the  28th  of  July,  1825  ;  and  of  the  West 
Building  ten  years  later — both  structures,  with 
the  minor  edifices  erected  later,  being  of  a  dark 
gray  stone  which  made  an  admirable  color  com- 
position with  the  green  of  the  grass  and  trees, 
and  of  the  ivy  when  it  began  to  grow  later  on. 
Only  one  of  the  original  edifices,  the  West  Build- 
ing, still  is  standing ;  and  now  the  larger  part  of 
what  was  Chelsea  Square  is  covered  with  the 
great  brick  halls,  and  the  brick  chapel,  erected 
within  the  past  ten  years. 

Even  with  all  this  growth  of  new  buildings 
there  still  remains  a  wide  extent  of  trimly  kept 


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DOWN    LOVE    LANE  1 79 

lawns  dotted  with  flower-beds  and  shaded  by 
wide-branching  trees ;  and  there  is  no  more  de- 
lightful bit  in  all  New  York  than  the  deeply  re- 
cessed space  in  the  south  front,  where  the  yellow- 
green  lawn  has  for  background  the  ivy-clad  red 
brick  walls  of  the  chapel,  far  above  which  rises 
stately  the  gravely  graceful  square  brick  tower. 
Especially  pleasing  and  Old-Worldly  is  this  same 
place  of  a  bright  spring  afternoon  during  the  last 
five  minutes'  ringing  of  the  chapel  bell  —  when 
the  seemly  young  Seminarists  (every  one  of  whom 
reasonably  may  hope  to  be  a  bishop  before  he 
dies)  come  trooping  along  the  paths  or  across 
the  grass  to  the  chapel  entrance,  all  properly  clad 
in  caps  and  gowns ;  while  at  the  same  time  come 
up  the  pathway  from  the  street  to  that  same  en- 
trance (for  their  souls'  comforting)  some  of  the 
most  charming  and  most  charmingly  dressed 
young  gentlewomen  to  be  found  within  a  radius 
%of  a  mile  around.  Truly,  looking  at  this  pretty 
sight,  it  is  not  difficult  to  fancy  one's  self  a  whole 
Atlantic  away  from  New  York  in  one  of  the  Eng- 
lish university  towns. 

Just  across  the  Ninth  Avenue,  eastward  from 
the  Seminary,  on  Twentieth  Street,  is  another 
picturesque  bit :  St.  Peter's  Church  —  a  large 
structure  of  dark  gray  stone  with  a  tall  and 
massive  and  very  well  proportioned  tower.  Seen 
in  broad  daylight,  the  church  is  a  good  deal  the 
worse  for  its  Perpendicular  porch  built  of  pine 
planks,  and  for  its  absurd  wooden  crenellation. 
But  these  incongruous  qualities  disappear  when 


i8o 


IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 


dusk  is  falling;  and  in  moonlight  they  become 
glorified  into  realities  instead  of  cheap  shams. 
At  such  times  this  church  is  beautiful  with  a 
grave  beauty  that  fitly  is  its  own. 


>**. 


CHELSEA   COTTAGES,   ON    TWENTY-FOURTH    STREET 


The  Fitzroy  Road,  leading  from  Greenwich  to 
Chelsea  and  thence  onward  to  the  Bloomingdale 
Road,  was  closed  as  the  streets  of  the  City  Plan 
were  opened  ;  but  it  has  by  no  means  disappeared. 
It  may  be  traced  more  or  less  clearly  from  its  be- 
ginning, south  of  Fifteenth  Street,  to  its  ending, 
at  Forty-second  Street :  being  throughout  its  en- 
tire length  close  upon  the  Eighth  Avenue  line. 
Principally  is  its  former  course  marked — and  this 
is  true  of  all  the  old  roads  hereabouts — by  open 
spaces  in  the  rows  of  houses,  or  by  houses  of  only 
a  story  or  two  stories  in  height,  and  usually  of 
wood:  as  though  some  doubt  as  to  the  title  to 
land  which  for  so  long  a  period  had  been  surren- 
dered to  the  public  use  had  prevented  the  build- 
ing upon  it  of  anything,  or  had  prompted  the 
building  of  houses  of  small  cost.  These  signs  are 
not  certain.  At  Twentieth,  Nineteenth,  and  Six- 
teenth streets  there  are  no  traces  of  the  road  at 
all.  On  the  other  streets  south  of  Twenty-first  its 
crossing  is  clearly  marked.  At  Twentieth  Street 
it  passed  through  the  opening  yet  remaining  be- 
tween the  wooden  houses  Nos.  250,  252;  at  Eigh- 
teenth Street  an  actual  section  of  it  remains  in 
use  in  the  driveway  to  a  brewery  ;  at  Seventeenth 
Street  another  section  remains,  west  of  the  wood- 
en house  No.  246,  in  the  court  running  into  the 
centre  of  the  block  ;  at  Fifteenth  Street  it  passed, 


** 


A  TENNIS-COURT   IN   CHELSEA 


beside  the  old  gambrel-roofed  house  still  stand' 
ing,  across  the  space  now  occupied  by  the  one- 
story  buildings  Nos.  231,  233.  Its  union  with  the 
Great  Kiln  Road  was  made  a  little  south  of  the 
present  Fifteenth  Street,  in  the  heart  of  the  exist- 
ing block;  the  Fifteenth  Street  crossing,  there- 
fore, virtually  is  its  southern  end. 

There  was  also,  I  am  inclined  to  believe — al- 
though it  is  not  marked  on  the  Commissioners* 


DOWN    LOVE    LANE  1 83 

map — a  road  which  ran  parallel  with  the  Fitzroy 
Road  a  little  east  of  the  present  Ninth  Avenue. 
What  I  take  to  be  a  trace  of  it  on  Twenty-first 
Street  is  the  two-story  stable,  No.  341,  beside  a 
large  frame  house  ;  on  Twentieth  and  Nineteenth 
streets  no  sign  of  it  appears ;  on  Eighteenth  Street 
the  one-story  shop,  No.  368,  seems  to  be  another 
trace;  on  Seventeenth  Street,  between  the  wood- 
en houses  Nos.  352,  354,  there  still  is  a  driveway 
into  the  middle  of  the  block,  where  more  wooden 
houses  of  ancient  date  are  found  ;  on  Sixteenth 
Street  the  trace  is  a  modern  two-story  dwelling, 
No.  352,  in  the  rear  of  which  is  a  small  wooden 
house  with  old-fashioned  outside  stair;  and  on 
Fifteenth  Street  the  traces  are  the  one -story 
buildings  on  each  side  of  the  way,  Nos.  366,  367  ; 
on  Fourteenth  Street,  naturally,  no  trace  survives, 
for  here  it  would  have  merged  into  the  Great 
Kills  Road. 

But  the  most  substantial  evidence  in  favor  of 
this  vanished  and  unrecorded  roadway  is  found 
in  the  two  delightfully  picturesque  old  wooden 
houses  which  stand  in  the  rear  of  No.  112  Ninth 
Avenue — up  an  alluring  alley  and  in  a  little  court 
of  their  own.  They  are  of  the  same  type  as  those 
on  Eighteenth  Street  of  which  a  picture  is  given 
on  page  188,  but  the  outside  stairs  leading  to  the 
second  story  are  not  roofed  over.  Houses  of  this 
sort  were  common  in  New  York  half  a  century 
and  more  ago,  and  many  of  them,  hidden  away 
inside  the  blocks  as  these  are,  still  survive.  They 
possessed  the  very  positive  merit  of  giving  the 


184  IN   OLD    NEW    YORK 

privacy  of  an  entirely  separate  dwelling  to  the 
tenants  of  each  floor.  These  houses,  in  the  rear 
of  No.  112,  certainly  were  built  long  before  the 
Ninth  Avenue  was  opened,  and  must  have  faced 
directly  upon  the  old  road;  in  additional  proof  of 
which  conjecture  is  the  fact  that  they  stand  pre- 
cisely in  line  with  the  opening  on  Eighteenth 
Street  where  the  road  presumably  crossed.  Pos- 
sibly the  road  never  was  opened  officially.  It 
may  have  been  only  a  short-cut  from  the  end  of 
the  Greenwich  Road  (of  which,  another  point  in 
its  favor,  it  would  have  been  a  direct  continua- 
tion) to  Chelsea  across  the  fields. 

Of  the  Warren  Road  there  is  no  trace  on  either 
Twenty-first  or  Twentieth  Street ;  but  its  track  is 
marked  on  Nineteenth  Street  by  the  wooden 
house  No.  148 ;  on  Eighteenth  Street  by  the 
houses  Nos.  155,  157;  and  on  Seventeenth  Street 
by  the  house  Nov  154. 


VI 

Of  all  these  old  roads  the  Southampton  was 
the  most  thickly  settled,  and  has  left  behind  it 
the  strongest  surviving  traces.  Excepting  Twen- 
tieth Street,  there  is  not  one  of  the  modern  streets 
throughout  its  length  but  exhibits  distinct  marks 
of  its  ancient  course ;  while  the  line  of  the  Great 
Kiln  Road,  of  which  it  was  a  continuation,  is 
shown  clearly  by  the  oblique  side  wall  of  the 
house  at  the  northwest  corner  of  Fifteenth  Street 


"W    A  ^Xpcicrv 


*^*- 


THE  CHAPEL  DOOR,  CHELSEA   SQUARE 


DOWN    LOVE   LANE  1 87 

and  the  Seventh  Avenue.  Its  most  marked  and 
most  interesting  remnant,  however,  is  the  group 
of  wooden  houses  —  buried  in  the  heart  of  the 
block  between  Sixteenth  and  Seventeenth  streets 
and  the  Sixth  and  Seventh  avenues — built  seventy 
years  back,  and  long  known  as  Paisley  Place,  or 
"  the  Weavers'  Row." 

This  cluster  of  dwellings,  once  outlying  upon 
Greenwich  Village,  came  by  both  of  its  names 
honestly.  Hand -weaving  was  a  New  York  in- 
dustry of  some  magnitude,  relatively  speaking,  in 
the  early  years  of  the  present  century,  and  was 
carried  on  mainly  by  weavers  emigrant  from  Scot- 
land ;  and  it  was  by  some  of  these  Scotch  weavers 
that  Paisley  Place  was  settled  and  named,  about 
the  year  1822.  The  date  is  well  determined,  in- 
asmuch as  the  settlement  stands  in  direct  relation 
with  the  yellow-fever. epidemic  of  that  year;  but 
whether  the  weavers  came  to  Paisley  in  order  to 
escape  the  fever,  or  came  after  the  fever  had 
passed  away  in  order  to  get  the  benefit  of  low 
rents,  is  not  so  clear. 

Mr.  P.  M.  Wetmore,  in  a  note  upon  Paisley, 
held  to  the  former  view.  "At  a  little  distance 
from  where  the  larger  merchants  had  made  their 
temporary  homes,"  he  wrote,  referring  to  Green- 
wich Village,  "  ran  a  secluded  country  lane  which 
bore  the  somewhat  pretentious  name  of  South- 
ampton Road.  A  convenient  nook  by  the  side 
of  this  quiet  lane  was  chosen  by  a  considerable 
number  of  the  Scotch  weavers  as  their  place  of 
refuge  from  the  impending  danger.    They  erected 


i88 


IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 


their  modest  dwellings  in  a  row,  set  up  their 
frames,  spread  their  webs,  and  the  shuttles  flew 
merrily  from  willing  fingers.  With  the  love  of 
Scotland  strong  in  their  hearts,  and  the  old  town 
from  which  they  had  wandered  far  away  warm  in 
their  memories,  they  gave  their  new  home  the 
name  of  Paisley  Place." 

On  the  other  hand,  Mr.  Devoe — who  lived  for 
many  years  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Paisley, 
and  whose  knowledge  in  the  premises  was  per- 


"Vr-A^^* 


NOS.  251,  253   WEST   EIGHTEENTH   STREET 


DOWN    LOVE    LANE 


189 


sonal — wrote  in  his  Market  Book  :  "  Many  of  the 
wooden  buildings  in  the  neighborhood  [of  the 
Jefferson  Market]  were  suddenly  put  up  in  1822 
to  accommodate  the  bankers,  insurance  and  other 
companies,  merchants,  etc.,  who  left  them  tenant- 
less  after  the  dreaded  yellow-fever  had  subsided, 
which  were  at  this  period  [1832]  filled  with  weavers, 
laborers,  and  others,  who  sought  low  rents." 

But  whether  the  Scotch  weavers  came  before 
or  after  the  fever  is  immaterial  to  the  point  of 
present  interest,  which  is  that  the  little  wooden 
houses  on  the  line  of  the  extinguished  Southamp- 
ton Road  still  stand  where  they  were  built  more 
than  seventy  years  ago — a  fact  that  any  person 
of  antiquarian  tendencies,  sufficiently  resolute  not 
to  be  dashed  by  a  bad  smell  or  two,  may  verify 
personally  by  making  an  expedition  up  one  of 
the  several  alleyways  on  the  south  side  of  Seven- 
teenth Street  west  of  the  Sixth  Avenue.  And — 
without  rising  to  such  heights  of  dare-odor  ad- 
venture as  the  search  for  the  Weavers'  Row  up 
dubious  alleyways — a  house  of  the  same  period 
may  be  seen,  No.  107,  still  standing  on  Seven- 
teenth Street  at  the  point  where  the  Southamp- 
ton Road  left  Paisley  Place  and  bore  away  across 
country  by  the  east  and  north. 

Having,  at  first,  Paisley  as  its  nucleus,  but  being 
centred  later  upon  the  factory  that  was  built  at 
the  northeast  corner  of  Nineteenth  Street  and 
the  Eighth  Avenue,  a  scattered  village  grew  up 
between  Greenwich  and  Chelsea  riaj.f  a  century 
ago  —  partly  on   the  lines  of  the  old  roads  and 


190  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

partly  on  the  lines  of  the  City  Plan.  Many  scraps 
of  this  broadcast  settlement  still  survive,  and  near- 
ly every  scrap  has  an  interesting  individuality. 
Best  of  all  are  the  two  delightfully  picturesque 
wooden  houses  Nos.  251,  253  West  Eighteenth 
Street:  standing  far  back  in  what  once  very  like- 
ly were  gardens,  but  which  certainly  are  not 
gardens  now,  and  each  having  ascending  to  its 
second  story  a  roofed-in  stair.  At  the  north- 
west corner  of  Seventeenth  Street  and  the  Eighth 
Avenue  is  a  remnant  of  what,  in  its  prime,  was  life 
of  a  higher  caste:  the  brick-front  wooden  dwell- 
ing, with  a  quaint  little  colonial  porch  having  an 
iron  railing  which  would  be  quite  perfect  were 
the  graceful  newel-posts  wrought  instead,  of  cast 
— a  house  that  has  an  air  about  it,  and  that  man- 
ages to  preserve  even  in  the  bedragglement  of 
its  now  sadly  fallen  fortunes  something  of  the 
bearing  of  its  better  days.  It  is  far  from  being 
in  as  good  condition  as  is  the  row  of  large  com- 
fortable-looking frame  dwellings  a  little  west  of 
it  on  Seventeenth  Street,  and  yet  even  the  tradi- 
tion of  its  former  rating  suffices  to  throw  the 
present  undoubted  well-to-do-ness  of  these  latter 
entirely  in  the  shade — in  much  the  way  that  a 
battered  and  out-at-elbows  gentleman  still  rises 
superior  to  the  commonplace  sort  of  humanity 
that  is  prosperous  but  has  not  in  all  its  blood  a 
single  drop  of  blue.  Scattered  along  the  Seventh 
Avenue  are  half  a  dozen  more  of  these  trig  and 
seemly  but  not  aristocratic  frame  houses ;  and  at 
the  Eighteenth  Street  crossing,  on  the  southwest 


DOWN    LOVE    LANE  igi 

corner,  is  a  large  outcrop  of  now  shabby  wooden 
dwellings  which  very  likely  had  their  genesis  in 
the  factory  that  stood  two  blocks  away  to  the 
west  and  north.  In  all  this  collection  of  rem- 
nants the  oldest  and  the  shabbiest  are  the  most 
attractive— for  on  these  is  found  that  exalting 
touch  of  the  picturesque  or  the  romantic  which 
is  nature's  gift  in  compensation  for  ruin  and  in- 
firmity and  broken  age. 

From  Paisley  Place  the  Southampton  Road 
went  northeastward  by  a  way  which  still,  save  on 
Twentieth  Street,  is  well  defined.  It  crossed 
Eighteenth  Street  a  few  feet  to  the  east  of  the 
Sixth  Avenue,  and  there  its  line  is  recorded  on 
the  oblique  western  wall  of  the  house  No.  63  ;  at 
Nineteenth  Street  it  crossed  where  now  are  the 
small  houses  Nos.  52,  54;  and  on  Twenty -first 
Street  it's  trace  is  very  clear  in  the  little  houses 
where  now  dwell  French  clear -starchers,  and 
where  once  dwelt — I  insist  upon  it — the  genial 
landlord  of  Love  Lane. 

Being  come  to  these  old  houses  again,  we  are 
back  very  nearly  to  the  point  at  which  our  walk 
began. 


LISPENARD'S    MEADOWS 


N   a   little   hill  far  out  in  the 

northwestern    suburb    of    the 

city  of  New  York — so  remote 

v^i     ■/  that  it  would  have  been  gird- 

»«v  x?        £vX        ed   about   by  Hudson,  Canal, 

and  Vestry  streets,  had  those 
thoroughfares  then  existed — 
stood  a  century  and  a  half  ago  the  farm-house 
of  Leonard  Lispenard.  The  farm  to  which  this 
house  related  was  a  portion  of  the  estate  that 
was  known  to  successive  generations  as  the  Duke's 
Farm,  the  King's  Farm,  the  Queen's  Farm,  and 
finally — when  it  became  by  gift  the  property  of 
the  English  Church — as  the  Church  Farm.*  Lis- 
penard's  holding,  of  which  he  was  the  lessee  from 
Trinity,  was  styled  specifically  the  Dominie's 
Bouerie,  or  the  Dominie's  Hook,  and  was  a  con- 
siderable property  lying  between  the  North  River 
and  a  bit  of  swamp  where  now  is  West  Broadway. 

*  The  Corporation  of  Trinity  claimed  title  to  this  property  on 
the  ground  that  it  was  a  part  of  the  King's  Farm  ;  and  also  on  the 
ground  that  it  had  been  conveyed  by  the  widow  of  the  Dominie 
Bogardus  to  Governor  Lovelace,  and  by  him  granted  to  the  Eng- 
lish Church. 


lispenard's  meadows  193 

The  southern  line  of  the  farm  was  close  upon 
that  of  the  present  Reade  Street ;  and  thence  it 
extended  to  the  southern  edge  of  the  wide  valley- 
through  which  discharged  lazily  into  the  Hudson 
the  stream  from  the  Collect,  or  Fresh  Water 
Pond. 

Where  that  stream  then  was,  now  is  Canal 
Street ;  and,  what  with  the  cutting  down  of  the 
hills  and  the  filling  in  of  the  hollows,  one  must 
look  keenly  to  make  sure  that  ever  there  was  a 
valley  here  at  all.  Of  the  swamp,  that  once  made 
a  large  part  of  the  valley  a  dangerous  quagmire, 
there  does  not  remain  a  trace — save,  possibly,  in 
some  of  the  cellars  thereabouts;  nor  would  any 
chance  wayfarer  along  Canal  Street  be  likely  to 
identify  this  region  with  the  meadows  which 
came  by  luck  and  love  into  the  possession  of 
Leonard  Lispenard,  and  which  for  more  than  a 
century — until  they  were  wholly  buried  beneath 
the  advancing  piles  of  houses  and  ceased  to  be 
meadows  at  all — were  known  by  his  name. 

For  a  long  while  after  the  settlement  of  this 
island  the  valley  to  the  westward  of  the  Fresh 
Water  Pond  remained  in  its  primitive  condition : 
a  morass  covered  with  a  tangled  growth  of  briers 
and  bushes  and  young  trees.  It  was  dangerous 
alike  to  animals  of  four  legs  and  of  two.  So 
many  cattle  wandered  into  it  and  were  lost  by 
being  swamped  that  the  Council  caused  it  to 
be  fenced  off.  So  rank  were  the  miasmatic  va- 
pors arising  from  it  that  tertian  fevers,  with  their 

intermediate  aguish  chills,  fell  upon  those  humans 
13 


194  IN   OLD   NEW   YORK 

luckless  enough  to  dwell  near  its  borders.  In  ad- 
dition to  all  of  which,  this  marshy  barrier  extend- 
ing across  two-thirds  of  the  island  confined  the 
growth  northward  of  the  city  to  a  narrow  strip 
of  land  on  the  East  River  shore.  Sooner  or  later, 
of  course,  the  abatement  of  so  serious  a  nuisance 
was  inevitable ;  but  that  it  was  effected  sooner 
rather  than  later  was  due  to  the  discreet  intelli- 
gence of  Anthony  Rutgers,  who  saw  a  chance  to 
advance  the  city's  interests  (without  in  the  least 
retarding  his  own)  by  turning  this  pestilent  quag 
into  honest  dry  land  on  condition  that  it  should 
be  made  over  to  him  as  a  free  gift. 

His  various  reasons  why  this  modest  proposi- 
tion should  be  accepted  are  set  forth  in  his  peti- 
tion to  the  King  in  Council — in  which  petition 
also  is  exhibited  the  condition  of  this  region 
about  the  year  1730  —  in  the  following  terms: 
"  The  said  swamp  is  constantly  filled  with  stand- 
ing water  for  which  there  is  no  natural  vent,  and 
being  covered  with  bushes  and  small  trees  is,  by 
the  stagnation  and  rottenness  of  it,  become  ex- 
ceedingly dangerous  and  of  fatal  consequence  to 
all  the  inhabitants  of  the  north  part  of  the  city 
bordering  near  the  same,  they  being  subject  to 
very  many  diseases  and  distempers  which,  by  all 
physicians  and  by  long  experience,  are  imputed 
to  the  unwholesome  vapours  arising  thereby;  and 
as  the  said  swamp  is  upon  a  level  with  the  waters 
of  Hudson  and  the  South  [East]  rivers,  no  person 
has  ever  yet  attempted  to  clear  the  same,  nor 
ever  can  under  a  grant  thereof  which  is  to  expire 


I         ) 
•    o    « 


)      i        I 

CO         i    > 


> 


H 

3 

o 

H 
0 

> 

> 

r 

t/3 


so 


lispenard's  meadows  197 

with  the  next  new  Governor,  for  the  expense  of 
clearing  the  same  will  be  so  great,  and  the  length 
of  time  in  doing  the  same  such  that  it  never  will 
be  attempted  but  by  a  grantee  of  the  fee  simple 
thereof,  and  as  the  same  can  be  of  no  benefit  un- 
til it  is  cleared,  so  no  person  has  hitherto  ac- 
cepted a  grant  of  the  said  land,  but  the  same  hath 
lain,  and  still  remains,  unimproved  and  unculti- 
vated, to  the  great  prejudice  and  annoyance  of 
the  adjacent  farms,  particularly  to  a  farm  of  your 
petitioners,  adjoining  thereto,  which  your  peti- 
tioner, after  having  been  at  a  great  charge  and 
expense  in  settling,  cannot  prevail  on  any  tenant 
to  take  the  same,  or  get  any  servants  to  continue 
there  for  any  time  while  the  said  swamp  remains 
in  its  present  state." 

Coupled  with  this  sombre  presentment  of  the 
matter  was  the  affidavit  of  one  Dr.  Moses  Bu- 
chanan to  prove  that  things  really  were  very  bad 
indeed.  He  swore,  did  Dr.  Moses,  that  "  having 
been  at  New  York  from  the  fifteenth  day  of 
April,  1727,  to  July,  1730,"  he  in  that  time  had  had 
"several  of  the  inhabitants  who  lived  bordering 
on  the  said  swamp  under  his  care  for  agues  and 
fevers  which,  to  the  best  of  his  judgment  and  be- 
lief, were  occasioned  by  the  unwholesome  damps 
and  vapours  arising  from  the  said  swamp." 

In  short,  so  moving  was  this  mass  of  testimony 
that  the  Council,  acceding  to  the  request  of  the 
accretive  Anthony,  granted  to   him  dut  of  hand 
the  fee  to  the  swamp — being,  in  all,  a  parcel  of 
seventy  acres — on  condition  that  he  should  pay 


198  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

for  it  "  a  moderate  quit-rent,"  and  that,  also,  he 
should  "  clear  and  drain  it  within  a  year."  On 
the  whole,  this  is  one  of  the  neatest  operations 
in  real  estate  that  is  recorded  in  the  annals  of 
New  York.  Mk 

But  it  was  the  son-in-law  of  the  operator  who 
got  the  good  of  the  operation.  About  the  time 
that  the  swamp  was  drained  and  cleared,  and  a 
good  part  of  it  made  into  useful  meadow  land, 
Mr.  Leonard  Lispenard  came  down  from  his  hill 
to  the  home  of  his  neighbor  Rutgers  in  the  valley, 
and  there  made  a  love-match  (and  at  the  same 
time  made  a  handsome  stroke  for  the  bettering 
of  his  own  fortunes)  by  marrying  his  neighbor's 
daughter.  Out  of  these  conditions  it  resulted 
that  when  Anthony  Rutgers  was  gathered  to  his 
fathers  and  his  realty  suddenly  shrunk  to  some- 
thing less  than  twelve  square  feet  of  land  (and 
even  to  this  his  only  title  was  that  of  occu- 
pancy), the  meadows  passed  to  his  daughter  and 
her  husband :  and  thenceforward  were  known  as 
Lispenard's  Meadows  until,  as  I  have  said,  their 
claim  to  any  sort  of  a  rural  designation  was  bur- 
ied beneath  brick  walls. 


II 


There  were  no  brick  walls  in  that  vicinity  in 
Lispenard's  time.  The  upper  end  of  Broadway, 
from  about  the  Park  onward,  was  a  draggled  bit  of 
lane  which  came  to  a  sudden  ending  (about  where 


-     .  )      j       , 


•     -)  >        .  »  '  >.     f 


3 

w 
H 

H 
5c 
W 
W 
H 

Z 

w 

> 

> 
> 


I    t  •  •         '      •  • 


LISPENARD  S    MEADOWS  201 

■White  Street  now  is)  against  a  set  of  bars.  Up 
this  lane  in  the  early  mornings,  and  down  it 
again  in  the  late  afternoons,  went  daily  sleek  and 
comfortable  cows — going  forth  and  back  between 
their  aristocratic  stables  in  the  court  quarter  of 
the  city,  over  on  Pearl  and  Nassau  and  Wall 
streets,  and  the  meadows  where,  bovine  parlor 
boarders,  they  feasted  in  luxury  upon  Mr.  Lis- 
penard's  rich  grass. 

After  all,  it  is  not  so  very  long  ago  that  the 
cows  thus  made  their  processional  and  recessional 
journeyings  to  and  from  open  pastures  which  now 
are  many  miles  away  from  even  the  smallest 
scrap  of  natural  green.  Several  of  the  old  gentle- 
men with  whom  of  late  I  have  talked  about  the 
days  when  all  the  world  was  young  —  that  is  to 
say,  when  they  were  young  themselves — remem- 
ber well  those  open  meadows  and  those  pampered 
cows;  and  one  even  has  told  me  that,  by  no  more 
of  a  charm  than  closing  his  eyes  and  thinking 
about  old  times,  he  can  hear  again  plainly  the 
melancholy  donging  of  the  cow-bells — a  dull,  sad, 
droning  sound — as  the  cows  come  slowly  home- 
ward down  the  Broadway  in  the  sunset  glow  of 
those  vanished  summer  days. 

It  is  only  a  life-time  ago,  therefore,  that  Lispe- 
nard's  Meadows — or"Lepner's  Meadows,"  as  old- 
fashioned  folk  had  it — were  a  conspicuous  feature 
of  what  now  is  a  far  down  part  of  the  town.  And 
from  what  I  am  told  by  my  old  gentlemen — it  is 
in  a  spirit  of  warm  affection  that  I  speak  of  them 
thus  possessively — I   infer  that  at  this  period, 


202 


IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 


which  none  of  them  seems 
to  regard  as  at  all  remote, 
the  world  went  very  well 
indeed.  Certainly,  there 
were  pleasures  to  be  had  in 
New  York  then  which  now 
are  unobtainable.  Every 
boy  whose  heart  and  legs 
are  in  the  right  places 
knows,  for  instance,  how  de- 
lightful it  is  to  make  a  gen- 
uine expedition  on  skates; 
really  to  go  somewhere  and 
to  come  back  again,  and  in 
the  course  of  the  journey 
to  take  agreeably  exciting 
risks  on  ice  that  has  not 
been  proved.  Nowadays 
a  New  York  boy  cannot  ob 
tain  a  pleasure  of  that  sort 
save  by  first  taking  a  rail 
way  journey;  but  one  ot 
my  blithe  old  gentlemen  re- 
calls with  joy  how  time  and 
again  he  put  on  his  skates 
at  the  Stone  Bridge — that 
is  to  say,  where  now  is  the  intersection  of  Broad 
way  and  Canal  streets  —  and  skated  away  over 
the  flooded  meadows,  and  around  the  base  of 
Richmond  Hill,  and  up  the  Minetta  Creek  (across 
the  marsh  that  later  was  transformed  into  Wash- 
ington Square),  and  so,  close  upon   the  line  of 


CAST-IRON   NEWEL 


LISPENARD  S    MEADOWS 


203 


what  in  the  fulness  of  time  was  to  be  the  Fifth 
Avenue,  clear  to  the  north  of  the  Fourteenth 
Street  of  the  present  day. 

Richmond  Hill — when  my  old  gentleman  thus 
came  skating  around  it  in  winters  more  than  sev- 
enty years  gone  by — really  was  a  hill :  the  south- 
western outjut  of  the  low  range  called  the  Zandt- 
berg  (that  is  to  say,  sand-hills),  which  swung  away 
in  a  long  curve  from  near  the  present  Clinton 
Place  and  Broadway  to  about  where  Varick  and 
Van  Dam  streets  now  cross.  The  Minetta  water 
expanded  into  a  large  pond  at  the  base  of  the 
hill,  and — to  quote  the  elegant  language  of  an 
earlier  day — "  from  the  crest  of  this  small  emi- 
nence was  an  enticing  pros- 
pect:  on  the  south,  the  / 
woods  and  dells  and  wind- 
ing road  from  the  lands 
of  Lispenard,  through  the 
valley  where  was  Borrow- 
son's  tavern ;  and  on  the 
north  and  west  the  plains 
of  Greenwich  Village  made 
up  a  rich  prospect  to  gaze 
on. 

Yielding  to  the  entice- 
ments of  the  prospect, 
Abraham  Mortier,  Esq., 
Commissary  to  His  Majes- 
ty'sforces,  purchased  Rich- 
mond Hill  about  the  year 
1760,  and   built   there  for 


WROUGHT-IRON   NEWEL 


204  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

himself  a  dwelling  which  was  held  in  the  taste  of 
the  period  to  be  vastly  fine.  According  to  the 
description  that  has  come  down  to  us,  Mr.  Com- 
missary Mortier's  house  was  "a  wooden  building 
of  massive  architecture,  with  a  lofty  portico  sup- 
ported by  Ionic  columns,  the  front  walls  dec- 
orated with  pilasters  of  the  same  order,  and  its 
whole  appearance  distinguished  by  a  Palladian 
character  of  rich  though  sober  ornament."  In 
other  words  it  was  one  of  those  Grecian  temples 
built  of  two-inch  pine  planks,  the  like  of  which 
still  may  be  seen  on  the  Long  Island  shore  of 
the  Narrows — to  the  astonishment  and  confusion 
of  the  intelligent  foreigner  for  the  first  time  com- 
ing up  the  bay. 

During  Mortier's  reign  on  Richmond  Hill  that 
agreeable  country-seat  gained  a  reputation  for 
liberal  hospitality  which  it  long  maintained.  Its 
most  distinguished  guest  of  that  period  was  Sir 
Jeffrey,  afterward  Lord,  Amherst,  who  made  the 
house  his  headquarters  when  he  had  ended  those 
successful  campaigns  which  broke  the  power  of 
France  in  America;  and  which  —  it  is  well  for 
New-Yorkers  to  remember — saved  a  good  half  of 
the  State  of  New  York  from  being  now  a  part 
of  Canada. 

Later,  Mr.  Vice-President  John  Adams  occu- 
pied Richmond  Hill — keeping  up  the  establish- 
ment on  a  scale  not  quite  so  liberal  as  that  of 
the  Commissary,  perhaps,  but  with  a  fitting  state 
and  dignity.  A  glimpse  of  the  interior  of  this 
household  is  given  by  Gulian  C.  Verplanck,  writ- 


LISPENARD  S    MEADOWS 


205 


ing  in  The  Talisman  for  1829,  in  his  description 
of  a  Vice -Presidential  dinner-party:  "There,  in 
the  centre  of  the  table,"  writes  Mr.  Verplanck, 
"  sat  Vice-President  Adams  in  full  dress,  with  his 
bag  and  solitaire,  his  hair  frizzled  out  each  side  of 
his  face  as  you  see  it  in  Stuart's  older  pictures  of 
him.    On  his  right  sat  Baron  Steuben,  our  royalist 


LISPENARD  S   MEADOWS 


republican  disciplinarian  general.  On  his  left  was 
Mr.  Jefferson,  who  had  just  returned  from  France, 
conspicuous  in  his  red  waistcoat  and  breeches,  the 
fashion  of  Versailles.  Opposite  sat  Mrs.  Adams, 
writh  her  cheerful,  intelligent  face.  She  was  placed 
between  the  Count  du  Moustiers,  the  French  am- 
bassador, in  his  red-heeled  shoes  and  ear-rings,  and 
the  grave,  polite,  and  formally  bowing  Mr.  Van 
Birket,  the  learned  and  able  envoy  of  Holland. 
There,  too,  was  Chancellor  Livingstone,  then  still 
in  the  prime  of  his  life,  so  deaf  as  to  make  conver- 


206  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

sation  with  him  difficult,  yet  so  overflowing  with 
wit,  eloquence,  and  information  that  while  listen- 
ing to  him  the  difficulty  was  forgotten.  The  rest 
were  members  of  Congress,  and  of  our  Legisla- 
ture, some  of  them  no  inconsiderable  men." 

The*  successor  to  Vice-President  Adams  in  the 
tenancy  of  this  estate,  and  the  tenant  with  whom 
its  name  always  is  most  closely  associated,  was 
Aaron  Burr:  to  whom  was  executed  a  sixty-nine 
years'  lease  of  the  property  on  May  I,  1797;  and 
who  here,  before  and  during  his  term  as  Vice- 
President,  lived  in  the  handsome  fashion  becom- 
ing to  so  accomplished  a  man  of  the  world.  It 
was  from  this  house  that  he  went  forth,  that  July 
morning  in  the  year  1804,  to  fight  his  duel  with 
Hamilton  over  on  the  other  side  of  the  Hudson 
below  the  Wiehawken  Heights  —  there  to  end, 
with  the  same  shot  that  killed  his  adversary,  his 
own  public  career.  Presently,  a  political  outcast, 
he  left  Richmond  Hill  to  engage  in  that  mysteri- 
ous Southwestern  project  whereof  the  full  mean- 
ing never  yet  has  been  laid  bare:  and  so  went 
galloping  to  his  political  death. 

M  The  last  considerable  man  to  live  at  Rich- 
mond Hill,"  again  to  quote  Mr.  Verplanck,  "  was 
Counsellor  Benzon  ;  a  man  who  had  travelled  in 
every  part  of  the  world,  knew  everything,  and 
talked  all  languages."  And  Mr.  Verplanck  testi- 
fies that  this  gentleman  maintained  the  hospita- 
ble traditions  of  the  house  by  adding:  "I  rec- 
ollect; dining  there  in  company  with  thirteen 
gentlemen,  none  of  whom  I  ever  saw  before,  but 


lispenard's  meadows 


207 


all  pleasant  fellows,  all  men  of  education  and  of 
some  note — the  counsellor  a  Norwegian,  I  the 
only  American,  the  rest  of  every  different  nation 
in  Europe,  and  no  two  of  the  same,  and  all  of  us 
talking  bad  French  together." 

Not  many  years  after  this  cosmopolitan  dinner- 
party, the  cutting  and  slashing  Commissioners 
by  whom   the  existing  City  Plan*  was  begotten 


RICHMOND    HILL 


doomed  Richmond  Hill,  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
Zandtberg  range,  to  be  levelled — to  the  end  that 
the  lowlands  thereabouts  might  be  filled  in.  By 
ingenious  methods,  the  old  house  was  lowered 
gradually  as  the  land  was  cut  away  from  under  it 
until  it  reached  at  last  the  present  street  level,  and 


208  IN    OLD    NEW   YORK 

found  itself  on  the  north  side  of  Charlton  Street, 
a  little  east  of  Varick  —  which  streets,  being 
opened,  destroyed  what  remained  to  it  of  sur- 
rounding grounds.  For  a  while  it  languished  as  a 
road  tavern;  and  then,  I  fancy  thankfully,  disap- 
peared entirely  that  in  its  place  the  row  of  smug 
little  brick  houses  on  Charlton  Street  might  be 
reared.  The  garden  which  lay  around  this  an- 
cient residence  was  on  the  hill -top,  a  hundred 
feet  or  so  above  the  present  level  of  the  land ; 
but  there  still  remains,  in  the  open  block  between 
Charlton  and  King  and  Varick  and  Macdougal 
streets,  a  surviving  fragment  of  the  garden  which 
lay  westward  of  the  house  in  its  degenerate  tavern 
days. 

Ill 

Close  upon  the  southern  borders  of  Lispenard's 
Meadows  were  Vauxhall  and  Ranelagh  gardens  ; 
two  vastly  agreeable  places  of  genteel  amuse- 
ment to  which  resorted  the  gay  gentlefolk  of 
New  York's  frolic  past.  These  gardens  were  in 
humble  imitation  of  their  famous  prototypes  in 
London,  and  provided  entertainment  of  a  like 
sort :  music,  a  hall  for  dancing,  lamplit  groves  in 
which  to  wander  between  the  dances,  and  "  tables 
spread  with  various  delicacies  " — all  for  the  bene- 
fit of  a  "  company  gayly  drest,  looking  satisfied," 
as  Goldsmith  phrased  it  when  describing  the 
older  gardens  in  his  Citizen  of  the  World. 

The  New  York  Vauxhall  was  known  originall} 


NO.  2IO  WEST   TENTH   STREET 


lispenard's  MEADOWS  211 

as  the  Bowling  Green  Gardens,  and  as  such — be- 
ing shown  on  Lyne's  map — certainly  was  in  exist- 
ence as  far  back  as  the  year  1729.  It  received  its 
more  pretentious  name  about  the  middle  of  the 
last  century,  and  continued  to  be  a  place  of  fash- 
ionable resort  during  the  ensuing  forty  years. 
With  the  revival  of  the  city's  prosperity,  when 
the  Revolutionary  war  was  well  ended,  the  land 
occupied  by  the  gardens  became  too  valuable  to 
be  used  for  such  merely  decorative  purposes. 
Gradually  the  pleasure-grounds  were  diminished 
in  size  by  encroaching  buildings,  and  at  last  only 
the  old  Vauxhall  house  remained.  This,  being 
still  a  tavern,  stood  at  the  corner  of  Greenwich 
and  Warren  streets  for  many  years  —  gradually 
settling  down  through  the  various  grades  of  re- 
spectability until  it  reached  a  level  at  which  it 
most  judiciously  disappeared. 

Ranelagh  —  in  which  pleasure -resort,  presum- 
ably, Leonard  Lispenard  and  his  wife  had  a  mon- 
eyed interest — had  a  handsome  beginning  and  a 
better  end.  It  was  the  transformed  homestead 
of  Colonel  Rutgers,  Lispenard's  father-in-law,  and 
it  remained  respectable  throughout  the  whole  of 
its  career. 

About  the  year  1730 — at  the  very  time  that  he 
began  to  lay  his  plans  for  acquiring  the  meadows 
without  having  to  pay  for  them — Colonel  Rutgers 
built  him  a  prodigiously  fine  dwelling  near  the 
present  corner  of  Thomas  Street  and  Broadway ; 
and  there  he  lived  in  a  becomingly  stately  fashion 
during  the  twenty  years  that  he  remained  a  citi- 


212  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

zen  of  this  city  and  this  world.  "  He  surrounded 
his  habitation,"  writes  the  engaging  Mr.  Valen- 
tine, "  with  elegant  shrubbery  in  the  geometrical 
style  of  rural  gardening  of  those  days.  Long 
walks,  bordered  with  boxwood  and  shaded  and 
perfumed  with  flowering  shrubs,  extended  in  va- 
rious directions  in  the  parterre  bordering  the 
house  ;  the  favorite  orchard  extended  along  the 
southerly  side  of  the  mansion,  while  the  pasture- 
lands  and  cultivated  fields  extended  towards  the 
north."  It  was  "a  charming  rural  residence,"  Mr. 
Valentine  declares  ;  and  adds  that  "  even  in  after. 
years,  when  its  quiet  and  domestic  characteristics 
had  given  place  to  the  festive  incidents  attached 
to  a  public  resort,  the  advertisement  of  the  pro- 
prietor expressed  it  as  judged  to  be  the  most 
rural  and  pleasing  retreat  in  the  city." 

Colonel  Rutgers  died  about  the  year  1 750,  and 
very  soon  after  his  death  "  the  domestic  charac- 
teristics" vanished  trom  his  home,  and  "  the  festive 
incidents  attached  to  a  public  resort "  took  their 
place.  This  transformation  was  effected  under 
the  proprietorship  of  one  John  Jones,  who  seems 
to  have  been  a  person  ot  sanguine  temperament 
and  also  not  over-modest:  if  one  may  judge  by 
the  advertisements  in  The  Weekly  Post  Boy,  in 
which  he  handsomely  credits  himself  with  having 
spent  his  money  in  the  most  lavish  fashion  to  the 
end  that  in  every  way  his  patrons  should  be  well 
served.  However,  in  that  his  Ranelagh  possessed 
"  all  conveniences  for  breakfasting,  and  every  en- 
tertainment  for  ladies  and  gentlemen  ";  that  it 


lispenard's  meadows 


213 


had  "  a  complete  band  in  attendance  every  Mon- 
day and  Thursday  during  the  summer  in  a  large 
dancing-hall,"  and  that  at  all  times  it  offered  to 
its  patrons  "  ornamental  gardens  laid  out  in  the 
geometrical  style,"  Mr.  John  Jones  seems  to  have 
been  more  or  less  justified  in  saying,  as  he  un- 


PUMP   ON    GREENWICH    STREET,   BELOW    CANAL 


hesitatingly  did  say,  that  it  was  "a  popular  resort 
of  very  elegant  excellence." 

The  rise  of  Ranelagh,  I  fancy,  had  much  to  do 
with  the  decline  of  Vauxhall.  The  new  gardens 
not  only  were  more  accessible  than  the  old  ones, 
but  they  started  with  a  certain  elegant  prestige : 


214  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

due  to  the  fact  that  the  polite  society  of  the  me- 
tropolis was  invited  by  the  enterprising  Jones  to 
continue  to  visit  for  a  money  consideration  at  a 
house  where  it  long  had  been  accustomed  to  visit 
on  the  score  of  pure  friendliness — which  invita- 
tion the  more  readily  was  accepted  because  of  the 
delicate  relish  that  there  was  in  exchanging  geni- 
al "  wonders  "  (between  the  dances,  while  sipping 
daintily  at  arrack  punch)  as  to  how  "  dear  Mrs. 
Lispenard  ever  could  have  brought  herself  to 
permit  her  father's  home  to  be  used  in  such  a 
way!"  Certainly,  while  they  lasted,  the  gardens 
were  an  unqualified  success,  attracting  always 
the  better  class  of  society  and  taking  the  lead- 
ing place  (to  quote  Jones  again)  "  among  those 
suburban  places  of  amusement  where  music, 
dancing,  and  feasting  contribute  their  share  in 
the  amusements  of  the  hour."  And,  finally,  they 
h.id'  the  good-fortune  to  die  a  genteel  death  in 
the  station  of  lifeto  which  they  had  been  born; 
that  is  to  say,  this  Ranelagh  on  Broadway  (there 
was  another  Ranelagh,  later,  out  on  the  Bowery) 
ceased  to  exist  while  still  a  fashionable  resort, 
and  did  not,  as  did  its  less  fortunate  rival,  go 
reeling  down  hill  to  a  ruinous  ending  in  the  slums. 
About  the  year  1765  Brannan's  Gardens  were 
established  over  on  the  north  side  of  the  Mead- 
ows, near  the  present  crossing  of  Hudson  and 
Spring  streets.  But  this  establishment,  in  the 
main,  was  a  daytime  resort  and  made  its  account 
out  of  thirsty  wayfarers  —  whereof  there  were 
many  in  that  part  of  the  island  and  in  those  cord- 


LISPENARD  S    MEADOWS  215 

ial  days.  Close  in  front  of  it  ran  the  Greenwich 
Road,  the  river-side  drive  along  which  went  a  gal- 
lant parade  of  fashionable  New  York  in  the  bright 
summer  and  autumn  weather  and  which  in  win- 
ter was  all  a-jingle  with  the  bells  of  sleighs.  The 
world  went  in  a  simpler  and  heartier  way  then, 
and  the  road-side  taverns  had  a  place  in  the  so- 
cial economy  that  was  very  far  from  low.  I  have 
quoted  in  another  paper  the  appreciative  com- 
ments of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Burnaby  (an  English  trav- 
eller who  surveyed  this  city  about  one  hundred 
and  forty  years  ago)  upon  the  Kissing  Bridge 
— an  institution  which  evidently  struck  him  fa- 
vorably— and  his  careful  explanation  of  the  con- 
ditions which  made  kissing-bridges  possible  also 
explains  how  such  outlying  resorts  as  Brannan's 
Gardens  were  supported.  "  The  amusements," 
writes  his  Reverence,  "  are  balls  and  sleighing- 
parties  in  the  winter,  and  in  the  summer  going  in 
parties  upon  the  water  and  fishing,  or  making 
excursions  into  the  country.  There  are  several 
houses  pleasantly  situated  up  the  East  River, 
near  New  York,  where  it  is  common  to  have  tur- 
tle feasts.  These  happen  once  or  twice  a  week. 
Thirty  or  forty  gentlemen  and  ladies  meet  and 
dine  together ;  drink  tea  in  the  afternoon ;  fish 
and  amuse  themselves  till  evening,  and  then  re- 
turn home  in  Italian  chaises  (the  fashionable  car- 
riage in  this  and  most  parts  of  America,  Virginia 
excepted,  where  they  chiefly  make  use  of  coaches, 
and  those  commonly  drawn  by  six  horses),  a  gen- 
tleman and  lady  in  each  chaise." 


2l6 


IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 


' 


Such  a  party  as  this,  coming  back  about  sunset 
from  Turtle  Bay,  would  be  pretty  certain  to  pro- 
long the  drive   by  switching  off  from  the  Post 

Road  (now  Broadway)  at 
Love  Lane  (now  Twenty- 
first  Street)  and  so  across 
to  the  Fitzroy  Road  (close 
on  the  line  of  the  present 
Eighth  Avenue)  and  down 
to  Greenwich  Village,  and 
thence  down  the  Green- 
wich Road  towards  home. 
And  such  a  party,  also,  even 
though  it  had  stopped  for  a 
sup  at  the  tavern  which  I 
am  confident  stood  at  the 
corner  of  Love  Lane  and 
the  Southampton  Road, 
and  for  another  sup  at 
"  The  Old  Grapevine  "  in 
Greenwich,  would  find  in 
these  suppings  only  anoth- 
er reason  for  stopping  at 
Brannan's  for  just  one  sup 
more. 
And  how  brave  a  sight  it  must  have  been  when 
— the  halt  for  refreshments  being  ended  —  the 
long  line  of  carriages  got  under  way  again  and 
went  dashing  along  the  causeway  over  Lispe- 
nard's  green  meadows,  while  the  silvered  harness 
of  the  horses  and  the  brilliant  varnish  of  the  Ital- 
ian chaises  gleamed  and  sparkled  in  the  rays  of 


THE   LOCKSMITH  S 
SIGN 


LISPENARD  S    MEADOWS 


217 


nearly  level  sunshine  from  the  sun  that  was  set- 
ting there  a  hundred  years  and  more  ago ! 


IV 

For  so  long  a  while  did  the  cow-bars  across 
Broadway,  a  little  north  of  Warren  Street,  check 
absolutely  the  advance  of  the  city  on  the  western 
side  of  the  island  that  within  the  present  century 
the  ghosts  of  those  turtle  feasters,  in  the  ghosts 
of  their  Italian  chaises,  might  have  driven  across 
Lispenard's  meadows  without  perceiving  any 
change  at  all.  Actually,  the 
levelling  undertaken  at  the 
instance  of  the  Commission- 
ers was  completed  less  than 
sixty  years  ago  •  and  a  still 
shorter  time  has  passed  since 
solid  blocks  of  houses  were 
erected  on  the  land  which 
these  radical  reformers  de. 
•spoiled  of  its  natural  beauty, 
and  then  proudly  described 
as  "  reclaimed." 

The  secretary  and  engi- 
neer to  the  devastating  Com- 
missioners,   old     Mr.     John      AN  old-time  knocker 

Randel  —  who    kept    up    a 

show  of  youthfulness  to  the  last  by  signing  his 
name  always  John  Randel,  Jun. — has  left  on  rec- 
ord a  characteristically  precise  description  of  the 


t' 


2l8  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

region  between  the  Canal  and  Greenwich  Village 
as  it  was  just  before  the  levelling  process  began  ; 
that  is  to  say,  as  it  was  a  trifle  over  eighty  years 
ago. 

"  In  going  from  the  city  to  our  office  [in  Green- 
wich] in  1808  and  1809,"  he  writes,  under  date  of 
April  6,  1864,  "I  generally  crossed  a  ditch  cut 
through  Lispenard's  salt  meadow  (now  a  culvert 
under  Canal  Street)  on  a  plank  laid  across  it  for 
a  crossing  place  about  midway  between  a  stone 
bridge  on  Broadway  with  a  narrow  embankment 
at  each  end  connecting  it  with  the  upland,  and 
an  excavation  then  being  made  at,  and  said  to 
be  for,  the  foundation  of  the  present  St.  John's 
Church  on  Varick  Street.  From  this  crossing- 
place  I  followed  a  well-beaten  path  leading  from 
the  city  to  the  then  village  of  Greenwich,  passing 
over  open  and  partly  fenced  lots  and  fields,  not 
at  that  time  under  cultivation,  and  remote  from 
any  dwelling-house  now  remembered  by  me  except 
Colonel  Aaron  Burr's  former  country-seat,  on  ele- 
vated ground,  called  Richmond  Hill,  which  was 
about  one  hundred  or  one  hundred  and  fifty 
yards  west  of  this  path,  and  was  then  occupied 
as  a  place  of  refreshment  for  gentlemen  taking  a 
drive  from  the  city.  Its  site  is  now  in  Charlton 
Street,  between  Varick  and  Macdougal  streets.  I 
continued  along  this  main  path  to  a  branch  path 
diverging  from  it  to  the  east,  south  of  Manetta 
water  (now  Minetta  Street),  which  branch  path  I 
followed  to  Herring  Street  [now  Bleecker  Street], 
passing  on  my  way  there,  from  about  two  hundred 


lispenard's  meadows  219 


to  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards  west,  the  coun- 
try residence  of  Colonel  Richard  Varick,  on  ele- 
vated ground  east  of  Manetta  water,  called  '  Tus- 
culum,'  the  site  of  which  is  now  on  Varick  Place, 
on  Sullivan  Street,  between  Bleecker  and  Houston 
streets.  '  On  Broadway,  north  of  Lispenard's  salt 
meadow,  now  Canal  Street,  to  Sailors'  Snug  Har- 
bor, a  handsome  brick  building  called  by  that 
name,  erected  on  elevated  ground  near  the  bend 
in  Broadway  near  the  present  Tenth  Street,  and 
formerly  the  residence  of  Captain  Randall ;  .  .  . 
and  from  the  Bowery  road  westward  to  Manetta 
water,  there  were  only  a  few  scattered  buildings, 
except  country  residences  which  were  built  back 
from  Broadway  with  court -yards  and  lawns  of 
trees  and  shrubs  in  front  of  them."  All  of 
which  is  quite  in  keeping  with  the  statement 
of  one  of  my  old  gentlemen  that  he  remembers 
looking  south  from  the  stoop  of  his  father's  house 
on  Leroy  Street,  in  Greenwich,  across  a  broad 
expanse  of  open  country  to  the  distant  city ;  and 
east,  also  across  open  country,  to  the  gallows 
which  stood  within  the  present  limits  of  Wash- 
ington Square. 


It  is  a  fact  illustrative  of  the  high-pressure  way 
in  which  this  city  of  New  York  is  run  that  the 
Canal  Street  region,  whereof  the  youthfulness  is 
proved  by  the  foregoing  testimony,  already  is  old. 


220  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

In  a  fashion  that  would  make  a  European  city 
dizzy,  it  has  dashed  through  all  the  phases  which 
mark  the  progress  from  youth  to  age ;  and  al- 
ready, in  no  more  than  a  man's  lifetime,  has 
passed  on  into  decay. 

Eighty  years  ago  it  was  suburban  and  obscure. 
Twenty  years  later,  Hudson  Square  having  been 
laid  out  and  St.  John's  Church  built,  it  began  to 
be  fashionable.  In  another  twenty  years — the 
square  being  then  surrounded  by  the  wide-fronted 
houses  of  which  many  stately  wrecks  remain — it 
was  one  of  the  most  gravely  respectable  parts  of 
the  town  :  and  for  more  than  a  decade  it  remained 
at  this  aristocratical  high-water  mark.  Then  be- 
gan its  slow  decline — which  ended  in  a  sudden 
and  irrevocable  plunge  in  the  year  1869,  when 
the  Hudson  River  Railroad  Company  crushed 
the  region  utterly,  so  far  as  its  fitness  to  be  an 
abiding-place  of  polite  society  was  concerned,  by 
clapping  down  four  acres  of  freight-station  over 
the  whole  of  the  luckless  park.  Only  one  man 
of  position  stayed  by  the  wreck,  and  even  may 
be  said  to  have  gone  down  with  it.  This  was 
John  Ericsson,  the  builder  of  the  Monitor,  who 
continued  in  his  home  of  many  years  on  St. 
John's  Park  until,  holding  up  to  the  last  in  that 
frowsy  and  bustling  region  its  traditional  calm 
respectability,  he   died  there   only  a  little  while 

ago- 

To-day,  the  dwellers  upon  St.  John's  Park  are 

mainly  foreigners  :  a  few  Germans,  but  more  Ital- 
ians— as  even  a  blind  man,  possessing  a  travelled 


«     t> 


n 

> 

> 


in 

H 
7i 
M 
M 
H 

> 
Si 

H 


O 
O 

S 
c! 

O 


is 


lispenard's  meadows  223 

and  intelligent  nose,  would  know  by  the  aggres- 
sive presence  of  several  distinctively  Neapolitan 
smells.  The  stately  houses,  swarming  with  this 
unwashed  humanity,  are  sunk  in  such  squalor 
that  upon  them  rests  ever  an  air  of  melancholy 
devoid  of  hope.  They  are  tragedies  in  mellow- 
toned  brick  and  carved  wood-work  that  once  was 
very  beautiful.  To  them  relief  can  come  only  in 
the  form  of  destruction,  and  the  only  destruction 
that  can  restore  their  self-respect — though  only 
in  the  moment  of  their  final  agony — by  making 
them  for  an  instant  clean  again,  is  fire.  Until 
this  happy  fate  comes  to  them,  their  portion  is 
despair. 

Serene  in  the  midst  of  this  grime  of  humanity 
and  trade,  the  gravely  beautiful  church — stand- 
ing at  ease  in  its  quiet,  grassy  yard — maintains  a 
calm  nobleness:  while  from  its  steeple  its  bells 
ring  out  as  clearly  and  as  sweetly  as  in  the  days 
when — as  one  of  my  old  gentlemen  tells  me — 
their  melody  went  floating  across  the  meadows 
clear  away  to  Greenwich  whenever  there  blew  a 
southerly  wind.  When  the  clock  bell  strikes 
noon,  nowadays,  there  is  a  great  commotion  be- 
fore the  church  in  Varick  Street,  as  the  Italian 
stevedores  employed  in  the  railway  station  wheel 
away  their  trucks,  and  the  drays  and  carts  scatter, 
and  there  comes  an  outburst — jetting  a  strain  of 
shrillness  into  the  general  noise — of  yelping  little 
boys  from  St.  John's  parish  school. 

The  Presbyterian  church  that  once  stood  near 
by  in  Laight  Street  long  since  closed  its  doors. 


224  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

Being  but  a  little  church,  and  so  close  to  a  big 
one,  it  was  styled  by  the  irreverent  "  St.  John's 
Kitchen  ":  yet  was  there  very  eloquent  preaching 
within  its  walls  when  Dr.  Samuel  Cox  occupied 
*  its  pulpit,  and,  with  sometimes  eccentric  but  al- 
ways very  earnest  vehemence,  urged  his  hearers 
to  be  folded  and  saved  with  the  sheep  rather 
than  cast  adrift  with  the  goats  to  be  damned  ! 

By  an  odd  twist  of  destiny,  it  is  mainly  to  the 
aristocratic  houses  on  the  Square  that  an  evil 
fate  has  come.  '  The  less  pretentious  structures 
thereabouts  have  sunk  only  to  the  level  of  lodg- 
ing-houses ;  and  many  of  them  even — as  is  mani- 
fested by  their  superior  air  of  self-respecting 
neatness  —  still  are  private  dwellings.  North  of 
Canal  Street,  over  what  once  was  Lispenard's 
land  and  on  northward  into  Greenwich  Village, 
there  is  a  succession  of  quiet  little  streets  filled 
with  quiet  little  houses,  in  each  of  which,  for  the 
most  part,  a  single  family  dwells.  About  this 
region  there  never  has  been  the  slightest  pretence 
to  style.  Land  values  here  always  have  been 
low,  and  much  of  the  property  can  be  acquired 
only  on  leasehold  from  Trinity.  From  the  be- 
ginning, therefore,  it  has  been  a  region  of  modest 
homes ;  and  if  there  is  an  American  quarter  any- 
where in  New  York  it  is  here. 

The  little  brick  houses  of  two,  and  two  and  a 
half,  and  three  stories,  date  from  about  forty 
years  ago ;  but  among  them,  here  and  there, 
wooden  dwellings  survive  from  a  much  earlier 
time.    At  the  corner  of  Varick  and  Spring  streets; 


LIgPENARD's    MEADOWS  225 

on  Dominick  Street  off  from  Clark;  on  Desbrosses 
Street  off  from  Hudson  ;  at  Nos.  6  and  8  Macdou- 
gal ;  at  the  head  of  King — and  at  many  other 
points  which  will  well  repay  looking  for  —  are 
wooden  survivals  which  cannot  fail  to  cheer  the 
heart  of  every  lover  of  ancient  things.  The  view 
at  the  head  of  King  Street,  by-the-way — over  the 
low  wooden  houses  to  the  towering  west  front  of 
the  church  of  Sant'  Antonio  di  Padua — at  about 
eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  is  had  the 
right  effect  of  light  and  shade,  is  one  of  the  most 
satisfying  views  in  New  York. 

But  this  American  quarter,  as  is  implied  by 
this  mention  of  a  church  dedicated  to  an  Italian 
saint,  is  sandwiched  in  between  the  abiding-places 
of  highly  foreign  foreigners.  West  Street,  from 
Canal  north  to  Christopher,  being  the  docking- 
place  of  the  principal  lines  of  trans- Atlantic 
steamers,  is  naturally  cosmopolitan:  with  the  Ger- 
man tongue  and  the  German  beer- saloon  a  little 
in  the  lead.  On  this  international  thoroughfare  is 
to  be  heard  at  all  times  such  a  chattering  of  out- 
landish tongues  as  to  suggest  the  immediate 
proximity  of  the  Tower  of  Babel ;  and  the  same  is 
true  of  the  little  park  at  the  point  where  West 
Street  is  joined  by  Canal.  From  the  park,  a  mere 
step  across  the  street  sets  one  aboard  a  Pacific 
Mail  steamer :  and  so  in  possession  of  fascinating 
possibilities  of  travel  along  all  the  western  coasts 
of  both  Americas,  and  out  yet  farther  westward 
to  the  Pacific  islands,  and  so  to  China  and  Japan. 
Merely  to  sit  for  a  while  in  that  park  is  to  give 
15 


226  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

one  the  feeling  of  having  gone  upon  several  long 
journeys  ;  and  this  feeling  is  greatly  intensified  if 
one  is  lucky  enough  (and  'tis  easy  done)  to  fall 
into  talk  with  one  of  the  old  men  who  come  here 
to  sun  themselves  on  crisp  autumn  days.  These 
old  men  always  are  more  than  willing  to  talk 
to  any  reasonably  sympathetic  person  about  the 
fortunes  and  the  misfortunes  of  their  ancient  lives ; 
and  they  not  unlikely — being  moved  thereto  by 
the  thrilling  influence  of  the  near-by  shipping, 
which  upon  souls  of  a  certain  romantic  constitu- 
tion works  always  an  exalting  charm  —  may  tell 
strange  stories  of  desperate  adventure  in  far-off 
countries  or  in  the  waste  and  hidden  places  of 
the  sea. 

But  toward  this  park  my  disposition  is  cordial 
on  other  grounds.  It  is  the  one  bit  of  green 
hereabouts  to  keep  alive  the  memory  of  the  mead- 
ows which  only  a  hundred  years  ago  stretched 
east  to  Broadway,  and  south  (on  the  river  side  of 
Church  Street)  almost  to  the  Hospital,  and  north 
up  the  Minetta  valley  beyond  Washington 
Square.  And  sometimes,  sitting  there  when  no 
imaginative  old  man  is  at  hand  for  my  entertain- 
ment, I  like  to  close  my  eyes  and  fall  to  thinking 
how  pleasant  a  walk  I  might  take — into  a  sort  of 
contemporaneous  antiquity — could  I  but  stroll 
arm-in-arm  with  the  strong  Dutch  spirit  of  Colo- 
nel Anthony  Rutgers,  or  with  the  lighter  French 
shade  of  Mr.  Leonard  Lispenard,  over  the  region 
where  their  meadows  used  to  be. 


THE   BATTERY 

WHEN  Hendrick  Hudson  came  sailing  into 
the  mouth  of  the  river  that  thenceforward 
was  to  be  known  by  his  name,  on  that  September 
day  in  the  year  1609,  almost  the  whole  of  what  now 
is  called  "  the  Battery  "  was  under  water  at  high 
tide.  And  it  is  a  fact — notwithstanding  the  thun- 
dering of  guns  which  has  gone  on  thereabouts, 
and  the  blustering  name  that  the  locality  has 
worn  for  more  than  two  centuries — that  not  a  sin- 
gle one  of  New  York's  enemies  ever  would  have 
been  a  whit  the  worse  had  the  tides  continued 
until  this  very  moment  to  cover  the  Battery 
twice  a  day!  Actually,  the  entire  record  of  this 
theoretically  offensive  institution  —  whereof  the 
essential  and  menacing  purpose,  of  course,  was 
that  somebody  or  something  should  be  battered 
by  it — has  been  an  aggregation  of  gentle  civilities 
which  would  have  done  credit  to  a  rather  excep- 
tionally mild-mannered  lamb. 

Most  appropriately,  this  affable  offspring  of 
Bellona  came  into  existence  as  the  friendly  prop 
to  a  still  more  weak-kneed  fort.  For  reasons  best 
known  to  themselves,  the  Dutch  clapped  down 
what  they  intended  should  be  the  main  defence 
of  this  island  upon  a  spot  where  a  fort — save  as  a 
place  of  refuge  against  the  assaults  of  savages — 


2  28  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

was  no  more  than  a  bit  of  military  bric-a-brac. 
Against  the  savages  it  did,  on  at  least  one  occa- 
sion, serve  its  purpose  ;  yet  had  even  these  at- 
tacked it  resolutely  they  must  surely  have  carried 
it :  since  each  of  the  Dutch  governors  has  left 
upon  record  bitter  complainings  of  the  way  irL. 
which  it  was  invaded  constantly  by  cows  and 
goats  who  triumphantly  marched  up  its  earthen 
ramparts  in  nibbling  enjoyment  of  its  growth  of 
grass.  When  the  stress  of  real  war  came — with 
the  landing  of  the  English  forces  in  the  year  1664 
— the  taking  of  this  absurd  fort  was  a  mere  bit  of 
bellicose  etiquette :  a  polite  changing  of  garri- 
sons, of  fealty,  and  of  flags. 

Later,  when  Governor  Stuyvesant  very  proper- 
ly was  hauled  over  the  coals  for  the  light-handed 
way  in  which  he  had  relinquished  a  valuable  pos- 
session, his  explanation  did  not  put  the  matter  in 
much  better  shape.  "The  Fort/'  he  wrote,  "is 
situated  in  an  untenable  place,  where  it  was  locat- 
ed on  the  first  discovery  of  New  Netherland,  for 
the  purpose  of  resisting  an  attack  of  the  barbari- 
ans rather  than  an  assault  of  European  arms; 
having,  within  pistol-shot  on  the  north  and  south- 
east sides,  higher  ground  than  that  on  which  it 
stands,  so  that,  notwithstanding  the  walls  and 
works  are  raised  highest  on  that  side,  people 
standing  and  walking  on  that  high  ground  can 
see  the  soles  of  the  feet  of  those  on  the  espla- 
nades and  bastions  of  the  Fort." 

Having  themselves  so  easily  captured  it,  the 
English  perceived  the  need  of  doing  something 


« 

o 
?s 
H 

> 

S3 

> 

H 
H 

W 
X 

< 


•^1 
en 

O 


THE    BATTERY  23 1 

to  the  Fort  that  would  enable  them  to  hold  it 
against  the  Dutch  in  the  probable  event  of  these 
last  trying  to  win  it  back  again.  The  radical 
course  of  abandoning  it  to  the  cows  and  goats 
and'  building  a  new  fort  upon  higher  ground — on, 
for  instance,  the  high  bluff  above  the  river-side 
where  Trinity  Church  now  stands  —  would  have 
been  the  wisest  action  that  could  have  been  tak- 
en in  the  premises  ;  but  the  very  human  tenden- 
cy to  try  to  improve  an  existing  bad  thing,  rather 
than  to  create  a  new  good  thing,  restrained  them 
from  following  out  this  one  possible  line  of  effect- 
ual reform.  Raising  the  walls  of  the  Fort  was 
talked  about  for  a  while ;  until  Colonel  Cart- 
wright,  the  engineer,  put  a  stopper  upon  this 
suggestion  by  declaring,  in  effect,  that  taking  the 
walls  up  to  the  height  of  those  of  Jericho  would 
not  make  the  place  tenable.  And  then,  after  more 
talk,  the  decision  was  reached  that  to  build  a  bat- 
tery under  the  walls  of  the  Fort  would  be  to  cre- 
ate defences  "  of  greater  advantage  and  more  con- 
siderable than  the  Fort  itself " :  whereupon  this 
work  was  taken  in  hand  by  General  Leverett  and 
carried  briskly  to  completion — and  from  that  time 
onward  the  Battery  has  been  part  and  parcel  of 
New  York. 

The  amount  of  land  which  then  constituted  the 
Battery  was  trifling:  as  is  shown  by  the  statement 
in  Governor  Dongan's  report  to  the  Board  of 
Trade  (1687),  "  the  ground  that  the  Fort  stands 
upon  and  that  belongs  to  it  contains  in  quantity 
about  two  acres  or  thereabouts."    The  high-water 


232  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

mark  of  that  period  would  be  indicated  roughly 
by  a  line  drawn  with  a  slight  curve  to  the  west- 
ward from  the  foot  of  the  present  Greenwich 
Street  to  the  intersection  of  the  present  White- 
hall and  Water  streets.  All  outside  of  this  line 
is  made  land  which  has  been  won  from  the  river, 
the  greater  part  of  it  within  the  past  forty  years, 
by  filling  in  over  the  rocks  which  fringed  this 
southwestern  shore. 

This  primitive  Battery  was  but  a  small  affair, 
loosely  constructed  and  lightly  armed.  As  to  its 
armament,  the  report  of  the  survey  ordered  in 
the  year  1688  contains  the  item:  "Out  the  Fort, 
under  the  flag-mount,  near  the  water-side,  5  demi- 
culverins ;"  and  its  inherent  structural  weakness 
is  shown  by  the  fact  that  only  five  years  after  its 
erection — that  is  to  say,  in  1689,  when  Leisler's 
righteous  revolt  made  the  need  for  strong  de- 
fences urgent — its  condition  was  so  ruinous  as  to 
be  beyond  repair;  wherefore  it  was  replaced  by 
"  a  half-moon  mounting  seven  great  guns." 

As  the  event  proved,  this  half-moonful  of  guns 
would  have  satisfied  for  almost  another  century 
all  that  might  have  been  (but  was  not)  required 
of  artillery  in  this  neighborhood.  But  the  times 
were  troublous  across  seas  ;  and  the  Leisler  mat- 
ter had  proved  that  questions  of  European  ab- 
stract faith  and  concrete  loyalty  might  exercise  a 
very  tumultuous  and  dismal  influence  upon  Amer- 
ican lives.  And  so  the  prudent  New-Yorkers, 
about  the  year  1693,  decided  to  bring  their  water- 
side defences  to  a  condition  of  high  efficiency  by 


^$y;-.J 


234  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

building  "  a  great  battery  of  fifty  guns  on  the  out- 
most point  of  rocks  under  the  Fort,  so  situated  as 
to  command  both  rivers," and,  incidentally,  to  defy 
the  world. 

In  the  mere  planning  of  this  nobly  defiant  un- 
dertaking there  seems  to  have  been  gained  so 
comforting  a  sense  of  security  that  its  realization 
was  not  arrived  at  for  nearly  half  a  century — as 
appears  from  Governor  Clarke's  statement  (1738)  : 
"  There  is  a  battery  which  commands  the  mouth 
of  the  harbor,  whereon  may  be  mounted  50  can- 
non. This  is  new,  having  been  built  but  three 
years,  but  it  wants  finishing."  In  the  course  of 
the  ensuing  thirty  years — possibly  even  sooner — 
the  finishing  touches  seem  to  have  been  supplied; 
at  least,  the  Battery  is  shown  as  completed  on 
Ratzen's  map  of  1767  ;  and  it  is  certain  that  these 
defences  were  in  effective  condition  while  New 
York  was  held  by  the  English  during  the  Revo- 
lutionary War.  Indeed,  during  the  Revolution- 
ary period  the  Battery  really  was  a  battery  of 
some  importance :  as  may  be  seen  by  the  accom- 
panying plan,  showing  a  line  of  works  extending 
from  the  foot  of  Greenwich  Street  along  all  the 
water-front  to  Whitehall  Slip.  But  what  made 
the  Battery  harmless  at  that,  potentially,  most 
belligerent  period  of  its  history  was  precisely 
what  has  made  it  harmless  throughout  the  whole 
of  its  kindly  career :  the  absolute  absence  of  an 
enemy  at  whom  to  discharge  its  guns. 

When  the  Revolutionary  War  was  ended  the 
nonsensical  Fort  at  last  was  demolished — which 


THE    BATTERY  235 

was  good  riddance  to  amusingly  bad  rubbish — 
and  with  it  the  Battery  went  too.  Why  this  last 
was  razed  is  not  at  all  clear.  Unlike  the  Fort,  it 
was  not  in  anybody's  way,  and  it  was  not  a  mili- 
tary laughing-stock.  On  the  contrary,  it  occu- 
pied an  otherwise  unused  corner  of  the  island, 
and  so  well  commanded  the  entrance  to  the  East 
and  North  rivers  that  it  was  saved  from  being 
deadly  dangerous  only  by  the  persistent  absence 
of  a  foe.  Indeed — in  theory,  at  least — it  was  so 
reasonable  a  bit  of  fortification  that  when  we 
went  to  fighting  England  again,  in  the  year  1812, 
it  immediately  was  built  up  anew.  During  that 
period  of  warfare,  of  course,  nothing  more  mur- 
derous than  blank  cartridge  was  fired  from  its 
eager  guns;  but  there  it  was  —  waiting  with  its 
usual  energy  for  the  chance  to  hurt  somebody 
which  (also  as  usual)  never  came. 

Meanwhile  there  had  been  set  up  in  this  re- 
gion another  military  engine  of  destruction  which, 
adapting  itself  to  the  gentler  traditions  of  its  en- 
vironment, never  came  to  blows  with  anybody, 
but  led  always  a  life  of  peaceful  usefulness  that  is 
not  yet  at  an  end.  This  was  the  Southwest  Bat- 
tery :  that  later  was  to  be  known  honorably  as 
Castle  Clinton  ;  that  still  later  was  to  become 
notable,  and  then  notorious,  as  Castle  Garden  ; 
and  that  at  the  present  time  is  about  to  take  a 
fresh  start  in  respectability  as  the  Aquarium. 

It  is  not  easy  to  realize,  nowadays — as  we  see 
this  chunky  little  fort  standing  on  dry  ground, 
with  a  long  sweep  of  tree-grown  park  in  its  rear 


236  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

— that  when  it  was  built,  between  the  years  1807 
and  181 1,  it  was  a  good  hundred  yards  out  from 
the  shore.  Its  site,  ceded  by  the  city  to  the  Fed- 
eral Government,  was  a  part  of  the  outlying  reef 
known  as  "the  Capske";  and  when  the  fort  was 
finished  the  approach  to  it  was  by  way  of  a  long 
bridge  in  which  there  was  a  draw.  The  armament 
of  this  stronghold  was  twenty-eight  32-pounders: 
and  when  these  went  banging  off  their  blank-car- 
tridges in  salutes,  and  clouds  of  powder- smoke 
went  rolling  down  to  leeward,  there  was  not  a 
more  pugnacious-looking  little  fume  of  a  fort  to 
be  found  in  all  Christendom. 

The  Battery  Park,  or  Battery  Walk,  as  it  indif- 
ferently was  called,  of  that  period  was  a  crescent- 
shaped  piece  of  ground  of  about  ten  acres — being 
less  than  half  the  size  of  the  Battery  Park  of  the 
present  day — which  ended  at  the  water-side  in  a 
little  bluff,  capped  by  a  wooden  fence,  with  a 
shingly  beach  beyond.  Along  the  edge  of  the 
bluff  the  earthworks  of  the  year  18 12  were  erect- 
ed, and  were  neither  more  nor  less  useful  than  the 
wooden  fence  which  they  replaced.  However, 
what  with  the  grim  array  of  guns  lowering  over 
the  earthen  parapet,  and  the  defiant  look  of  the 
obese  little  fort,  the  New  York  of  that  epoch 
must  have  worn  to  persons  approaching  it  from 
the  seaward — being  for  the  most-  part  oystermen 
and  the  crews  of  Jersey  market -boats  —  a  most 
alarmingly  swaggering  and  dare-devil  sort  of  an 
air. 

Yet  was  there  a  cheerful  silver  lining  to  these 


ft  I  i  h 


1 '  '  >   ^ 


X 

M 

50 
> 
H 
H 
Pi 
SO 

►< 


oo 
to 
to 


THE    BATTERY  239 

dismally  black  clouds  of  war.  In  his  admirable 
monograph  upon  "  New  York  City  during  the 
War  of  1812-15,"  Mr.  Guernsey  writes:  "  In  the 
summer  of  1812  there  was  occasionally  music  af- 
ter supper,  at  about  6.30  P.M.,  at  the  Battery  flag- 
staff," which  "  stood  at  the  southeast  end  of  the 
Battery  parade,  and  was  surrounded  by  an  octa- 
gon enclosure  of  boards,  with  seats  inside  and  a 
roof  to  shelter  from  the  weather.  Refreshments 
and  drinks  were  served  from  this  building,  and  a 
large  flag  was  displayed  from  the  pole  at  appro- 
priate times."  Never,  surely,  was  there  a  more 
charming  exhibition  of  combined  gentleness  and 
strength  than  then  was  made  :  when  the  brave 
men  of  New  York,  night  after  night,  gallantly  in- 
vited the  beautiful  women  their  fellow-citizens  to 
partake  of  "refreshments  and  drinks"  close  beside 
the  stern  rows  of  deadly  cannon,  and  beneath  the 
flag  to  defend  which,  as  the  women  themselves, 
they  were  sworn  !  In  all  history  there  is  no  par- 
allel to  it:  unless,  perhaps,  it  might  be  likened  to 
the  ball  and  the  battle  of  Waterloo — with  the  bat- 
tle left  out. 

Even  the  New-Yorkers  of  that  period — whose 
infusion  of  Dutch  blood  still  was  too  strong  to 
permit  them  easily  to  assimilate  ideas — could  not 
but  perceive  that  as  a  place  of  recreation,  where 
refreshments  and  drinks  could  be  had  to  a  musi- 
cal accompaniment,  the  real  use  of  their  psuedo- 
Battery  at  last  had  been  found.  Out  of  this  ra- 
tional view  of  the  situation  came  the  project — 
formulated  soon  after  Castle  Clinton  was  re-ceded 


240  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

to  the  city,  in  the  year  1822,  upon  the  translation 
of  the  Federal  military  headquarters  to  Governor's 
Island  —  to  make  over  the  fort  into  a  place  of 
amusement ;  which  project  was  realized,  and  Cas- 
tle Garden  came  into  existence,  in  the  year  1824. 
From  that  time  onward,  through  all  the  phases  of 
its  variegated  career — as  concert-hall,  place  of  civic 
assembly,  theatre,  immigrant  depot,  armory — the 
building  at  least  has  been  able  to  account  for  it- 
self on  grounds  whereof  the  mere  statement  would 
not,  as  in  the  days  when  it  was  pretending  to  be 
a  fort,  instantly  excite  a  grin. 

With  the  departure  from  Castle  Clinton  of  the 
last  of  its  32-pounders  went  also  tlie  last  vestige 
of  an  excuse  on  the  part  of  the  Battery  for  retain- 
ing its  Sir  Lucius  OTrigger  of  a  name.  But  in 
that  region,  fortunately,  old  names  live  on.  There 
are  the  Beaver's  Path  and  the  Maiden's  Lane,  the 
first  of  which  has  ceased  to  be  the  exclusive  prop- 
erty of  beavers,  and  the  second  of  maidens,  for  more 
than  two  and  a  half  centuries ;  there  is  the  Wall 
Street,  whence  the  wall  departed  about  A.D.  1700  ; 
and  there  is  the  Bowling  Green,  where  bowls  have 
not  been  played  for  well  on  toward  two  hundred 
years.  WTith  these  admirable  precedents  to  stay 
and  to  strengthen  it  in  use,  there  is  no  fear  that 
the  name  of  the  Battery  soon  will  pass  away.  And 
even  should  the  brave  name  be  lost  in  the  course 
of  ages,  still,  surely,  must  be  preserved  always  the 
gracious  legend  of  those  peaceful  guns  which  nev- 
er thundered  at  a  foe. 


THE  DEBTORS'  PRISON 

BUT  a  trifle  more  than  sixty  years  ago  one  of 
the  most  agreeably  edifying  sights  of  this 
town — to  which  country  relatives  come  up  for  a 
holiday  might  be  taken  with  a  pleasurable  advan- 
tage—  was  the  Debtors'  Prison.  This  structure 
stood  (and  in  a  revamped  state  still  stands,  being 
the  present  Hall  of  Records)  at  the  northeast  cor- 
ner of  what  now  is  the  City  Hall  Park ;  but  before 
it  came  to  be  employed  in  what,  for  a  prison,  was 
so  genteel  a  fashion  it  had  led  but  a  shabby,  and 
in  one  period  of  its  existence  an  even  execrable, 
career. 

In  the  early  decades  of  the  past  century  the 
criminals  of  New  York  were  lodged  (with  a 
shrewd  thrust  of  prophetic  sarcasm)  in  the  City 
Hall :  which  building  then  stood  on  the  site  now 
occupied  by  the  United  States  Treasury  on  Wall 
Street.  As  early  as  the  year  1724  the  impossi- 
bility (even  more  conspicuously  obvious  at  a 
later  date)  of  confining  the  City  Hall  criminals 
within  that  edifice  became  apparent,  and  in  1727 
four  men  were  appointed  "  to  watch  it  to  prevent 
escapes."  But  in  1740  complaints  were  made 
that  even  the  walls  and  the  watchers  together 
did  not  suffice  to  restrain  the  prisoners ;  and  at 

last,  in  the  year  1756,  an  Act  of  Assembly  was 
16 


242  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

procured  enabling-  the  corporation  to  provide 
means  for  the  erection  of  a  jail  with  walls  of  such 
solidity  that  through  them  prisoners  could  not 
ooze  away. 

The  site  chosen  for  this  structure  was  in  "  The 
Fields" — whereof  the  surviving  remnant  is  the 
present  City  Hall  Park — and  the  original  plan 
called  for  a  building  two  stories  in  height  and 
about  fifty  feet  square.  While  in  process  of  con- 
struction the  addition  of  a  third  story  with  a  "  cu- 
pola "  (which  later  became  a  famous  outlook  for 
fires)  was  decided  upon ;  and  in  this  shape  the 
New  Jail,  as  it  then  and  thereafter  was  called, 
came  into  existence  and  certainly  was  in  use 
by  the  year  1764:  at  which  time  the  whip- 
ping-post, stocks,  cage,  and  pillory  were  brought 
from  Wall  Street  and  were  set  up  in  front  of  it, 
while  the  gallows — less  constantly  in  requisition 
— stood  a  little  retired  in  its  rear.  Close  beside 
it  (on  the  site  where  now  stands  the  City  Hall) 
stood  the  Poor-house,  that  had  been  erected  in 
the  year  1735  ;  and  about  the  year  1775  the 
Bridewell  was  built,  in  a  line  with  these  cheerful 
structures,  over  beside  Broadway.  Thus  adorned, 
"  The  Fields  " — being  so  obviously  the  terminal 
station  of  various  sorts  of  criminal  careers — was  a 
veritable  object-lesson  in  morality. 

The  evil  fame  of  the  New  Jail  was  acquired 
in  the  time  of  the  Revolutionary  War.  During 
the  English  occupation  of  this  island  it  was  used 
as  a  military  prison  under  the  charge  of  the  rep- 
robate Provost-Marshal  Cunningham:  and  so  came 


THE    DEBTORS     PRISON  243 


# 


to  be  known  as  the  Provost,  or  the  Provost  Jail. 
Of  the  truly  horrible  cruelties  to  which  were  sub- 
jected the  Americans  there  confined — who  for  the 
most  part  were  either  officers  or  civilians  of  gen- 
tle blood — it  is  needless  now  to  speak.  Sleeping 
dogs  of  so  ugly  a  sort  very  well  may  lie.  And, 
moreover,  whatever  was  the  sum  of  this  particu- 
lar s'core  against  Great  Britain  we  wrote  it  off 
the  books  forever  on  the  28th  of  April  of  the 
year  1893:  when  the  sailors  of  Queen  Victoria 
— marching  where  no  armed  Englishman  has 
marched  since  November  25,  1783 — were  cheered 
to  the  echo  from  the  doors  and  windows  of  the 
very  building  in  which  American  patriots  were 
dealt  with  most  foully  by  the  servants  of  that 
gracious  woman's  graceless  grandfather,  King 
George  the  Third. 

When  the  war  was  ended  the  Provost  reverted 
to  more  legitimate  uses  again  ;  but  under  regula- 
tions which  sent  all  the  common  criminals  to  the 
Bridewell,  and  made  the  New  Jail  merely  a  place 
of  genteel  detention  for  prisoners  for  debt :  those 
thriftless  (or,  possibly,  over-thrifty)  persons  who 
were  for  dancing  through  the  world  at  the  charges 
of  anybody  whom  they  could  induce  to  pay  their 
piper  ;  .and  whose  simple  concept  of  economical 
finance  was  never  to  pay  a  piper,  nor  anybody  else, 
for  themselves.  That  this  class  was  represented 
over-liberally  in  the  New  York  of  a  hundred  years 
ago  might  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  between 
January  2d  and  December  3d  of  the  year  1788  no 
less  than  1 162  debtors  were   sent  to  prison;   in 


244  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

other  words — the  population  then  being  about 
25,000 — one  citizen  in  every  twenty,  or  there- 
abouts, went  to  jail  for  debt.  Fortunately  for 
the  reputation  of  the  New-Yorkers  of  the  last 
century,  however,  these  figures — which  I  find  in 
a  petition  addressed  by  the  Association  for  the 
Relief  of  Distressed  Debtors  to  the  General  As- 
sembly— are  misleading  when  taken  without  their 
qualifying  context.  The  purport  of  the  petition 
was  to  exhibit  the  injury  done  to  the  community 
by  "  the  confinement  of  debtors  for  small  sums," 
and  its  major  premise  was  the  fact  that  of  the 
1 162  commitments  specified  no  less  than  716 
were  "  for  sums  recoverable  before  a  justice  of 
the  peace,  and  many  of  these  under  twenty  shil- 
lings." Very  reasonably,  therefore,  the  memorial- 
ists urge  that  the  confinement  of  debtors  for  such 
slight  cause  inures  greatly  to  the  injury  of  the 
community  :  "  as  thereby  the  certain  profit  which 
would  arise  to  society  from  the  labour  of  the 
debtor  is  sacrificed,  for  an  indefinite  time,  to  the 
precarious  prospect  of  recovering  a  debt  which 
the  creditor,  in  most  instances,  has  improvident- 
ly  suffered  to  be  contracted,  and  which  very  often 
does  not  amount  to  one-fourth  of  the  value  the 
public  would  derive  from  the  labour  of  the  debtor 
during  the  time  of  his  confinement " — all  of  which, 
save  the  delightful  and  also  astute  saddling  of  the 
responsibility  for  the  debt  upon  the  "  improvi- 
dent "  creditor,  is  very  much  what  Solon  had  to 
say  upon  the  same  subject  rather  more  than  two 
thousand  years  earlier  in  the  history  of  the  world. 


THE    DEBTORS     PRISON  245 

As  rearranged  after  the  Revolution,  the  Debt- 
ors' Prison  consisted  of  twelve  wards,  six  on  the 
first  and  six  on  the  second  floor;  and  with  these 
last  a  chapel  in  which  the  debtors  were  privileged 
to  hear  prayers  read  every  Thursday.  Obviously, 
the  large  number  of  committed  debtors  could  not 
be  accommodated  in  this  building;  and  to  meet 
the  requirements  of  the  case  the  plan  was  adopt- 
ed— from  the  English  system — of  ideally  increas- 
ing the  size  of  the  prison  by  permitting  well-to- 
do  debtors  (who  had  snatched  from  their  burning 
fortunes  a  comforting  brand  or  two  wherewith  to 
pay  for  such  privileges)  to  live  outside  of  it,  but 
within  what  were  termed  its  "  limits."  In  Blunt's 
Strangers  Guide  to  the  City  of  New  York  for  the 
year  1817,  the  limits  of  the  Debtors'  Prison  are 
described  as  extending  to  "about  160  acres," 
and  as  subject  to  alteration  by  the  judges  of  the 
Court  of  Common  Pleas  ;  to  which  is  added  the 
statement  that  "  permission  to  reside  in  the  lim- 
its may  be  obtained  for  fifty  cents  and  finding 
proper  security  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  Gailor ; 
but  this  is  only  granted  after  judgment  has  been 
obtained." 

At  that  period,  according  to  the  guide-book, 
there  were  "  only  thirty-five  prisoners  within  the 
walls ;  and  outside,  within  the  limits,  between 
five  and  six  hundred."  These  figures  relate  spe- 
cifically to  August,  1 81 7,  and  presumably  show  a 
considerably  smaller  number  of  prisoners  than 
were  on  the  rolls  a  few  months  earlier — inasmuch 
as  the  Act  of  Assembly  of  April  15,  18 17,  provid- 


246  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

ed  that  "  any  person  confined  in  this  prison  for  a 
debt  not  exceeding  $25,  exclusive  of  costs,  upon 
applying  to  any  judge  or  justice  of  the  city,  and 
making  oath  that  his  real  or  personal  estate  does 
not  exceed  in  value  $25  over  and  above  the  arti- 
cles exempted  by  law  from  seizure  in  execution, 
is  entitled  to  be  set  at  liberty." 

This  humane  law  —  which  virtually  complied 
with  the  petition  of  1788 — so  materially  modified 
the  conditions  in  regard  to  debtors  that  the  need 
for  a  debtors'  prison  as  a  separate  institution  prac- 
tically disappeared.  For  another  dozen  years  the 
New  Jail  remained  in  existence;  but  with  a  con- 
stantly increasing  exhibition  of  the  extravagance 
involved  in  maintaining  so  considerable  an  estab- 
lishment for  so  small  an  end.  Indeed,  a  genial 
tradition  declares  that  the  prison  was  continued 
in  commission  through  these  later  years  not  in 
the  interest  of  the  prisoners,  but  in  the  interest 
of  their  jailer,  the  kindly  and  prodigiously  stout 
Pappy  Lownds — who  was  not  fitted  to  discharge 
the  duties  of  any  other  office  in  the  gift  of  the 
corporation  ;  and  who,  even  had  there  been  an- 
other berth  available  for  him,  was  too  fat  to  be 
moved. 

In  the  year  1830  (hearts  by  that  time  having 
grown  harder,  perhaps)  this  arcadian  state  of  af- 
fairs was  brought  to  an  end  by  the  urgent  request 
of  the  then  Register  for  a  fire-proof  building  in 
which  to  house  the  city  records,  and  by  the  phe- 
nomenally prompt  decision  of  the  City  Council 
to  gratify  his  request  :    out  of  which  conditions 


'    >.     '    !  j   ,       ,  .    >     >  . 


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THE   DEBTORS     PRISON  249 

came  the  result  that  the  New  Jail  not  only  dis- 
appeared, but  that — being  cut  down  a  story  and 
encased  in  new  outer  walls — it  was  replaced  by 
an  edifice  which  long  was  regarded  by  compla- 
cent New-Yorkers  as  a  prodigy  of  classic  archi- 
tectural art. 

After  the  initial  burst  of  hurry  the  work  went 
on  so  temperately  that  the  requirements  of  the 
original  plan  have  not  been  executed  completely 
even  now,  at  the  end  of  sixty-four  years.  How- 
ever, by  the  summer  of  1832  the  building  was  so 
far  advanced  that  it  could  be  used  as  a  temporary 
cholera  hospital ;  and  a  year  later  the  Register, 
the  Comptroller,  the  Surrogate,  and  the  Street 
Commissioners  were  housed  together  within  its 
walls.  All  of  these  offices  long  since  were  crowd- 
ed out  by  the  records — the  Surrogate  in  1858,  the 
Street  Commissioners  in  1859,  and  in  1869  the 
Comptroller.  That  the  remaining  tenant  has 
made  exceedingly  bad  use  of  his  exclusive  prop- 
erty is  patent  to  the  eyes  and  nose  of  whoever 
ventures  within  its  dirty  precincts ;  nor  will  such 
adventurer  question  the  tradition  of  the  office 
that  within  it  are  recorded  all  the  bad  smells 
which  have  been  known  on  this  island  from  the 
earliest  Dutch  times. 

Fortunately  this  defilement  of  the  interior  of 
the  Hall  of  Records  has  not  affected  its  exterior, 
which  essentially  is  unchanged  since  Recorder 
Riker  took  possession  of  his  new  quarters  sixty 
years  ago.  Yet  probably  not  many  people,  look- 
ing at  this  modest  little  building  nowadays,  even 


250  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

faintly  imagine — what  actually  was  the  fact — that 
when  it  was  newly  finished  it  was  the  most  beau- 
tiful structure  upon  the  island,  and  was  the  pride 
and  open  boast  of  the  city  of  New  York.  A  few 
keen  observers  there  must  be — among  the  million 
or  so  of  human  beings  passing  it  every  day — who 
perceive  the  symmetry  of  its  proportions,  its  ad- 
mirable mass,  its  simple  elegance,  and  who  won- 
der whence  these  classic  excellences  were  derived ; 
and  such  discriminating  observers  will  not  be  sur- 
prised when  they  know  its  genesis.  Actually, 
the  little  Hall  of  Records  is  patterned  upon  the 
mighty  temple  of  Diana  of  Ephesus — that  majes- 
tic Artemision  which  would  cover  (should  Che- 
risiphon  come  alive  again  and  set  up  his  master- 
piece here  in  New  York)  not  an  odd  corner  of 
the  City  Hall  Park,  but  the  whole  of  Union 
Square — and  so  does  it  come  honestly  by  its  her- 
itage of  grace. 


OLD-TIME   PLEASURE-GARDENS 

EVEN  in  the  serene  period  of  the  Dutch  domi- 
nation of  this  island,  its  inhabitants  were 
wont  to  betake  themselves — in  a  gentle  and  semi- 
somnolent  fashion  —  to  rural  jovs.  At  the  very 
first,  while  savages  still  roved  the  region  north  of 
where  Trinity  now  stands,  and  were  liable  to  take 
scalps,  if  occasion  offered,  in  the  wild  woodland 
where  now  is  the  City  Hall  Park,  the  Dutchmen 
of  Manhattoes  discreetly  smoked  their  pipes  and 
drank  their  schnapps  close  under  the  shelter  of 
the  guns  of  the  Fort :  that  brave  structure  which 
defied  mankind  in  general,  and  never  was  carried 
by  assault  save  by  escalading  squadrons  of  pigs 
and  cows  in  quest  of  grass.  And  'twas  a  lesson 
in  peaceful  happiness  to  behold  the  founders  of 
this  city  sitting  with  a  broad  firmness — as  became 
their  great  natures  and  the  nether  configuration 
of  their  substantial  bodies — on  the  benches  in  the 
garden  behind  Martin  Krieger's  tavern  on  the 
Bowling  Green,  or  in  front  of  Aunt  Metje  Wessel's 
tavern  on  the  Perel  Straat,  calmly  enjoying  the 
beauties  of  nature  in  the  early  evening  freshness 
of  those  summer  days  whereon  the  sun  went 
down  slowly,  as  though  loath  to  lose  sight  of 
them,  more  than  two  centuries  and  a  half  ago. 
A  little  later,  when  Dutch  valor  had  thrust  the 


252  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

savages  back  into  the  remote  wilderness  beyond 
Harlem,  that  longing  for  rural  pleasures  which 
ever  since  has  characterized  the  innocent  inhab- 
itants of  this  town  fully  declared  itself;  and  to 
satisfy  it  Wolfert  Webber  built  his  tavern,  in  the 
midst  of  a  fair  garden,  near  the  then  famous  Tea- 
water  Spring  and  close  to  where  now  is  Chatham 
Square.  Tea-water,  as  such,  was  not  in  any  great 
request  at  this  suburban  resort  ;  but  of  warm 
afternoons  the  potential  tea-water  was  abundant- 
ly useful  —  coming  cool  from  the  spring  in  great 
jugs  of  Delft  utterance  —  for  the  compounding 
of  beverages  of  a  sturdier  sort  better  fitted  for 
the  refreshment  of  a  race  engaged  in  conquer- 
ing standing-room  in  a  savage  land.  And  with 
these  liquid  pleasures  were  to  be  had  also — at 
the  hands  of  the  skilled  Vrouw  Webber  —  all 
manner  of  toothsome  cakes  and  pies.  Moreover, 
in  a  grave  and  seemly  fashion  —  such  exercise 
used  judiciously  being  an  agreeable  stimulant  to 
both  thirst  and  hunger — the  placid  revellers  who 
here  assembled  were  wont  to  play  at  bowls. 

In  truth,  it  was  a  bit  got  adrift  out  of  Arcady, 
this  tree-bowered  tavern  of  Wolfert  Webber's  : 
whence,  in  addition  to  all  the  happiness  there 
was  immediately  about  it,  there  was  wafted  far 
away  toward  Harlem,  when  the  soft  south  winds 
of  summer  were  a-blowing,  such  an  aromatic  and 
delicious  odor  of  Holland  spirits  as  was  fit  to 
bring  tears  of  longing  into  the  eyes  of  every  way- 
farer home-coming  down  the  Bowery  Road.  And 
when  the  Kissing  Bridge  was  built,  across  the  rill 


v       OLD-TIME    PLEASURE-GARDENS  253 

running  from  the  Tea-water  Spring,  what  with  the 
promise  held  out  by  Wolfert's  jolly,  thick-set, 
Dutch  black  bottles  and  by  the  toll  that,  lawfully 
could  be  taken  at  the  bridge  from  the  jolly,  thick- 
set, Dutch  fair  maidens  on  the  way  homeward  in 
the  dusk,  there  was  not  on  the  whole  continent 
of  North  America  a  pleasure-place  more  justly  or 
more  generously  esteemed. 

But  the  Kissing  Bridge,  which  came  into  exist- 
ence about  the  time  that  the  seventeenth  centurv 
was  laid  to  rest  and  became  a  back  number  in 
the  files  of  Time,  was  an  institution  begotten  of 
the  new  English  race  which  forcibly  assumed 
possession  of  this  island  and  made  New  Amster- 
dam over  into  New  York  in  the  year  1664.  Be- 
cause of  this  same  change  of  owners  and  of  names, 
and  about  the  time  of  the  creation  of  the  Kissing 
Bridge  (to  which  institution,  in  despite  of  its  for- 
eign genesis,  the  Dutch  took  most  kindly),  there 
came  into  existence  also  a  rival  English  pleasure- 
garden  that  must  have  been  a  grievous  thorn  in 
Wolfert  Webber's  fat  Dutch  side. 

The  rival  establishment,  of  which  the  propri- 
etor was  a  loose  fish  named  Richard  Sacket,  was 
over  near  the  East  River  just  north  of  where  now 
is  Franklin  Square.  It  was  known  as  the  Cherry 
Garden  —  because  of  the  cherry  orchard  which 
was  one  of  its  chief  attractions  —  and  the  lane 
that  ran  beside  it  still  exists,  and  still  preserves 
its  memory,  in  the  grimy  Cherry  Street  of  the 
present  day.  There  was  a  bowling-green  in  the 
garden,  together  with  "  other  means  of  diversion," 


254  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

declare  the  chronicles ;  but  what  these  other 
means  of  diversion  were,  the  chroniclers — follow- 
ing the  annoying  example  of  reticence  set  by  He- 
rodotus— do  not  tell.  However,  without  regard 
to  their  respective  attractions,  the  mere  fact  that 
one  of  these  gardens  was  Dutch  and  that  the  oth- 
er was  English  was  quite  enough  to  break  up  the 
New  York  pleasure -seekers  of  that  period  into 
rival  camps.  And  so — until  another  generation 
was  grown  and  the  bitterness  of  foreign  conquest 
was  a  little  forgotten  —  there  was  Dutch  merry- 
making and  patriotism  on  a  basis  of  schnapps  at 
Wolfert  Webber's ;  while  at  Richard  Sacket's  the 
dominant  English  were  gay  in  their  own  language 
and  drank  toasts  to  Queen  Anne  and  to  the  first 
of  the  Georges  in  their  favorite  West  India  rum. 

Possibly  because  of  the  succession  of  the 
House  of  Hanover,  certainly  at  about  that  period, 
and  from  that  period  onward,  the  garden  habit 
of  New-Yorkers,  already  well  fixed,  became  very 
much  intensified.  In  the  early  years  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century  another  rival  to  Wolfert  Webber 
established  himself  almost  directly  over  that 
worthy  man's  nose — that  is  to  say,  on  the  top  of 
the  near-by  Catimut's  Hill  ;  down  on  Crown 
Street  (the  Liberty  Street  of  the  present  day) 
was  Barberrie's  Garden ;  over  near  the  shore  of 
the  North  River  (as  may  be  seen  on  Lyne's  map 
of  1729)  was  the  Bowling  Green  Garden,  which  a 
little  later  was  renamed  Vauxhall ;  in  this  same 
vicinity,  about  the  year  1750,  Ranelagh  (whereof 
I  have  written  elsewhere)  was  evolved  from  the 


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OLD-TIME    PLEASURE-GARDENS  257 

homestead  of  Colonel  Rutgers  ;  Brannan's  Garden 
was  established  out  on  the  Greenwich  Road,  to 
the  northward  of  Lispenard's  Meadows,  about 
the  year  1765  ;  before  the  end  of  the  century 
Byram's  Garden — subsequently  known  as  Corn's, 
and  as  the  Mount  Vernon  Garden — adorned  the 
hill-top  above  where  now  is  the  crossing  of  Leon- 
ard Street  and  Broadway;  to  this  same  neighbor- 
hood Contoit's  New  York  Garden  was  transferred 
(from  opposite  to  the  City  Hall  Park)  about  the 
year  1809  and  there  continued  its  vivacious  ex- 
istence for  a  term  of  forty  years:  during  which 
period  Castle  Garden  (a  garden  only  by  courtesy, 
being  actually  a  stone  fort  surrounded  by  water) 
ran  through  nearly  the  whole  of  its  brilliant  career; 
while  Niblo's,  in  the  year  1828,  began  the  life  as  a 
garden  that  as  a  theatre  continues  even  until  this 
present  day.  Keeping  together  the  whole  of  this 
long  chain — whereof  many  links  have  not  been 
named — was  the  Atlantic  Garden,  as  it  was  called 
in  its  latter  days,  at  the  lower  end  of  Broadway: 
a  place  of  entertainment  that  began  life  as  the 
garden  of  the  old  tavern  known  successively  as 
Krieger's,  Burns's  Coffee  House,  and  the  King's 
Arms,  and  that  maintained  its  easy-going  and 
genial  existence  from  a  time  only  a  little  later 
than  the  founding  of  New  Amsterdam  until  less 
than  five-and-thirty  years  ago. 

Excepting  only  Castle  Garden — the  great  glory 
of  which  as  a  place  of  amusement  has  been  un- 
fairly dimmed  by  its  degenerate  squalor  in  later 

times  as  an  emigrant  depot — the  most  brilliant 
17 


258  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

of  all  of  these  technically  rural  resorts  was  Vaux- 
hall :  whereof  the  record,  though  relating  to  dif- 
ferent sites  and  to  many  different  managements, 
practically  is  continuous  for  considerably  more 
than  one  hundred  years. 

The  beginning  of  this  pleasuring -place,  as  I 
have  written  above,  was  very  early  in  the  eigh- 
teenth century  and  under  the  name  of  the  Bowl- 
ing Green.  At  that  time  it  was  far  away  in  the 
country,  being  a  leasehold  on  the  Church  Farm; 
while  still  in  its  prime  the  city  grew  out  to  it ; 
and  in  its  last  days  this  once-fashionable  resort, 
its  garden  sold  off  in  building  lots,  was  sunk  to 
the  level  of  a  low  groggery  (standing  at  the  cor- 
ner of  Warren  and  Greenwich  streets)  in  what 
then  was  the  shabbiest  part  of  the  town.  Ho\v- 
ever,  before  this  dismal  destiny  overtook  the 
primitive  Vauxhall,  its  respectable  name  seems 
to  have  been  transferred  to  a  Vauxhall  which 
Mr.  Valentine  affirms  was  established  by  one 
Delacroix  in  the  year  1798  on  Bayard's  Mount, 
in  the  old  Bayard  homestead  ;  and  thence  was 
shifted,  five  or  six  years  later,  to  the  ultimate 
Vauxhall :  which  had  the  good-fortune  not  only 
to  lead  a  respectable  life,  but  to  pass  out  of  exist- 
ence in  a  genteel  obscurity  with  no  blot  upon  its 
name. 

This  last  Vauxhall  Garden — which  for  half  a 
century  had  been  a  real  garden  wherein  Jacob 
Sperry,  a  Swiss,  grew  flowers  and  fruit  for  the 
New  York  market — became  a  pleasure-garden  in 
the  year  1803:   when  Sperry,  waxing  old  in  his 


NINETY-FIFTH    STREET   AND    PARK    AVENUE 


OLD-TIME   PLEASURE-GARDENS  26 1 

gentle  calling,  sold  the  property  to  Mr.  Astor, 
and  when  Mr.  Astor  leased  it  for  one-and-twenty 
years  (according  to  Valentine)  "  to  a  Frenchman 
named  Delacroix,  formerly  a  keeper  of  the  Vaux- 
hall  on  the  old  Bayard  estate,"  who  turned  the 
green-house  into  "  a  handsome  saloon  "  and  trans- 
ferred to  the  establishment  his  own  capable  man- 
agement and  the  long-popular  name. 

The  venture  was  rather  a  daring  one,  for  the 
garden  was  more  than  a  mile  out  of  town  on  the 
Bowery  Road  ;  that  is  to  say,  was  just  south  of 
what  now  is  Astor  Place  and  what  then  was  be- 
ginning to  be  called  Art  Street  though  still  cur- 
rently known  as  Monument  Lane.  However,  it 
became  immediately  a  fashionable  resort ;  and 
when,  a  little  later,  the  theatre  was  built  and 
the  garden  —  already  "  provided  with  summer- 
houses  for  the  accommodation  of  company  " — 
was  "adorned  with  busts  and  statues,"  all  the 
town  flocked  to  it,  and  its  prosperity  was  assured 
for  a  long  term  of  years. 

Certain  sprightly  friends  of  mine,  at  least  two 
decades  younger  than  the  present  century,  re- 
member well  this  gallant  garden  in  its  later 
days ;  and  they  protest  that  what  with  its  dazzle 
of  lamps  in  the  arbors  and  shrubbery,  and  its  fire- 
works and  fire -balloons,  and  its  music,  and  the 
performances  of  that  killing  comedian  Twaits  in 
such  dashing  bits  as  "The  Agreeable  Surprise" 
— to  say  nothing  of  the  palate-tickling  things  to 
eat  and  to  drink  which  there  abounded — 'twas  as 

gay  a  place  of  recreation  as  was  to  be  found  at 
17* 


262  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

that  period  of  an  evening  anywhere  in   the  civ- 
ilized world. 

These  young  ancients — who  are  by  no  means 
too  old  to  go  for  a  frolicsome  evening  to  El  Do 
rado,  yet  who  remember  so  freshly  this  other 
pleasure-garden  that  to  the  present  generation  is 
buried  figuratively  beneath  the  sands  of  time,  and 
literally  beneath  the  far-extending  walls  of  the 
Astor  Library — bring  us  very  close  to  our  point 
of  departure:  and  so  emphasize  the  continuity  of 
our  rural  pleasure-places  from  the  placid  Dutch 
period  even  until  the  present  day.  For  this  gar- 
den which  they  vividly  remember  had  its  begin- 
ning while  Wolfert  Webber's  and  Richard  Sack- 
et's  gardens  still  flourished,  and  while  Dutch 
schnapps  and  the  more  subtle  spirit  of  Dutch 
patriotism  still  held  out  bravely  against  English 
ion  and  English  rum. 


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NEW  AND  OLD  NEW  YORK 

EVEN  down  in  the  densely-built  region  be- 
tween what  used  to  be  Lispenard's  Mead- 
ows and  what  used  to  be  Love  Lane — that  is  to 
say,  between  the  present  (fanal  Street  and  the 
present  Twenty-first  Street  —  there  still  may  be 
found  many  ancient  wooden  houses  which  survive 
from  the  time  when  all  this  region  was  open 
country,  broken  only  by  a  few  dwellings  scattered 
along  the  central  highway  and  along  the  half- 
dozen  minor  roads  and  lanes. 

A  few  of  these  wooden  veterans  have  been 
wheeled  around  on  their  timber  toes  to  the  lines 
of  the  City  Plan,  and  face  boldly  upon  the  exist- 
ing streets — as  in  the  case  of  the  little  houses  on 
the  southeast  corner  of  the  Sixth  Avenue  and 
Eleventh  Street.  But,  as  a  rule,  land  fronting  on 
any  street  is  too  valuable  to  be  encumbered  by 
such  poverty-stricken  remnants  of  an  earlier  time, 
and  the  wooden  buildings  are  tucked  away  mod- 
estly in  the  centres  of  the  blocks — where  they 
are  to  be  come  at  only  by  adventuring  into  the 
twilight  depths  of  tunnel -like  alleyways  or  up 
narrow  courts.  For  instance,  in  the  rear  of  No. 
112  Ninth  Avenue — on  the  line  of  an  old  country 
road  whereof  the  very  name,  if  it  ever  had  one, 
is  forgotten — there  is  in  use  as  a  dwelling  a  house 


266  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

which  was  built  not  less  than  fifty  years  ago, 
when  all  about  it  was  open  fields ;  and  between 
Sixteenth  and  Seventeenth  streets,  west  of  the 
Sixth  Avenue,  there  survives  in  the  centre  of  the 
block  a  whole  row  of  wooden  houses — on  the  line 
of  the  old  Southampton  Road,  and  once  known 
as  Paisley  Place — which  date  from  the  yellow- 
fever  summer  of  1822. 

Certain  mild-maaoered  elderly  people,  folk  of 
kindly  natures  and  gentle  antiquarian  tastes,  have 
a  feeling  of  warm  friendliness  for  these  remnants 
of  what  hereabouts  (where  all  is  so  very  new)  we 
are  pleased  to  style  antiquity.  For  such  there 
is  pleasure  in  speculating  upon  how  each  little 
house  came  into  being  in  the  open  country  years 
ago ;  and  upon  how  the  city  grew  out  toward 
them  all,  and  then  around  them,  until  at  last  they 
fairly  were  buried  in  its  heart.  For  the  whole 
process  seems  remote  and  curious,  and  therefore 
is  permeated  by  a  delicately  agreeable  flavor  of 
romance. 

And  yet,  in  point  of  fact,  one  has  only  to  take 
a  train  on  the  elevated  railway,  and  so  jog  north- 
ward (if  so  bustling  a  word  as  jog  may  be  applied 
to  the  elevated-railway  service)  for  three  or  four 
miles,  and  one  finds  to-day  precisely  the  condi- 
tions of  open  country  and  wooden  houses  and  an 
advancing  city  which  obtained  between  Lispe- 
nard's  Meadows  and  Love  Lane  a  long  lifetime 
ago.  In  other  words,  just  as  comparative  ethnol- 
ogists study  primitive  types  in  existing  races  of  a 
low  order  (such  as  the  Maoris  and  other  savages 


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NEW  AND  OLD  NEW  YORK  269 

who  lack  intellectuality  and  dress  mainly  in  bad 
smells),  so  may  comparative  sociologists  study  very 
accurately  in  the  upper  half  of  this  island  at  the 
present  day  what  has  been  going  on  in  the  lower 
half  of  it  for  the  past  two  hundred  and  fifty  years. 
Constantly  the  line  of  substantial  buildings  is  ad- 
vancing northward,  and  along  the  whole  length 
of  this  line,  from  river  to  river,  the  old  constantly 
is  displaced  by  or  is  obscured  by  the  new.  Did 
the  mass  of  brick  and  stone  move  forward  with  a 
uniform  front,  the  new  simply  would  overwhelm 
the  old,  and  that  would  be  the  end  of  it.  But 
the  advance  is  made  precisely  as  an  army  marches 
into  an  enemy's  country:  with  a  light  skirmish- 
line  thrown  out  far  ahead  to  feel  the  way ;  with 
substantial  columns  of  reconnoissance  supporting 
the  skirmishers ;  and  in  the  rear  of  all  the  solid 
masses  of  the  main  force — with  the  coming  of 
which  last  the  country  definitely  is  subdued. 

It  is  the  beginning  of  the  conquest  that  is  in- 
teresting— the  period  between  the  arrival  of  the 
skirmishers  and  the  coming  of  the  supporting 
force ;  that  is  to  say  (to  drop  the  metaphor),  the 
period  during  which  the  houses  of  brick  and 
stone  are  coming  into  a  straggling  existence  on 
the  lines  of  the  City  Plan,  but  while  yet  many  of 
the  little  wooden  houses  still  stand  at  hopeless 
odds  with  the  new  thoroughfares— testifying  to 
the  lines  of  country  roads  which  have  disappeared 
beneath  a  gridironing  of  city  streets — and  while 
still  remain  wide  stretches  of  open  country  across 
which  are  far  outlooks  to  the  wooded  heights  be- 


270  IN    OLD    NEW   YORK 

yond  the  North  River,  and  away  eastward  to  the 
Long  Island  hills. 

Nowhere  on  the  whole  northern  front  of  the 
advancing  city  is  the  imminently  impending 
ploughing  under  of  the  old  by  the  new  accented 
with  such  dramatic  intensity  as  in  the  vicinity  of 
Ninety-seventh  Street  and  Park  Avenue:  where  a 
score  or  more  of  little  houses,  surviving  from  a 
primitive  rural  time,  stand  close  under  the  shad- 
ow of  the  stately  armory  of  the  Eighth  Regi- 
ment and  are  pressed  upon  closely  by  solidly 
built  blocks  of  handsome  dwellings  of  almost  lit- 
erally the  present  day. 

None  of  these  little  houses  is  entitled  to  much 
respect  on  the  score  either  of  age  or  of  personal 
dignity.  When  the  Commissioners'  map  was 
completed,  eighty  years  ago,  the  only  building 
in  this  immediate  vicinity  was  the  Rhinelander 
farm-house,  on  the  line  of  the  present  Ninety- 
first  Street  between  the  Second  and  Third  ave- 
nues. Prom  that  point  northward  to  104th 
Street,  on  the  borders  of  the  Harlem  marsh,  and 
between  the  line  of  the  present  Fifth  Avenue 
and  the  East  River,  there  were  only  three  other 
houses  all  told.  None  of  these  wooden  buildings, 
therefore,  is  more  than  eighty  years  old,  and 
probably  none  of  them  is  much  turned  of  forty. 
As  for  their  personality,  for  the  most  part  they 
are  no  more  than  shanties.  Yet,  as  the  city- 
grows  around  them,  they  perfectly  illustrate  the 
process  by  which  houses  of  a  nobler  sort  in  the 
lower  part  of  the  island  have  been   surrounded; 


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NEW   AND   OLD    NEW    YORK  273 

and  so,  for  a  longer  or  shorter  period,  have  been 
preserved.  Half  a  century  from  now  such  of 
them  as  then  may  chance  to  remain  extant  will 
put  on,  no  doubt,  vastly  important  airs  (as  do 
also  certain  vulgar  humans  under  like  circum- 
stances), for  no  better  reason  than  that  they  have 
attained  to  unusual  years.  Yet  will  they  then  to 
some  extent  deserve  respectful  consideration,  be- 
cause— even  as  a  personally  unimportant  trilobite 
throws  light  upon  an  unknown  epoch — they  then 
will  serve  to  illustrate  a  vanished  age. 

In  the  meantime  these  shanties  of  low  degree 
give  a  touch  of  the  picturesque  to  a  neighborhood 
that  otherwise — save  for  the  redeeming  glory  of 
the  armory — would  be  an  ill -made  compromise 
between  the  unkempt  refuse  of  the  country  and 
the  dull  newness  of  the  advancing  town.  Once 
they  must  have  occupied  a  very  picturesque  site, 
but  that  point  in  their  favor  long  since  was  lost. 
They  are  clustered  together  on  what  anciently 
was  a  hill-side  sloping  down  to  the  East  River 
directly  above  Hell  Gate.  But  now  the  streets 
brought  to  grade  above  them  have  left  them  in  a 
hollow,  and  half  a  mile  of  solidly  built-up  city 
cuts  off  the  old  outlook  eastward :  across  the 
wild  rush  of  the  Hell  Gate  waters  swirling  about 
the  Frying-pan  and  the  Gridiron  and  seething  in 
the  Pot.  Around  these  shabby,  down-at-heel 
dwell  ngs,  and  even  over  some  of  them,  go  frisk- 
ing w  se-looking  bearded  goats  in  the  gravely  gro- 
tesque fashion  peculiar  to  their  kind.     In  one  of 

the  do  >rways  a  very  bandy-legged  bull-dog  some- 

18 


274  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

times  may  be  seen.     Quite  the  most  respectable 
of  all  their  inhabitants  is  a  staid  gray  cat. 

Presently  the  whole  of  this  queer  little  congre- 
gation will  have  disappeared :  being  hidden  by 
enclosing  lines  of  brick  dwellings — as  is  the  old 
house  on  the  Eighth  Avenue,  on  the  line  of  the 
forgotten  country  road ;  or,  what  is  more  proba- 
ble, being  uprooted  completely — as  was  the  simi- 
lar group  of  small  wooden  houses  which  stood, 
not  much  more  than  half  a  century  ago,  on  what 
is  now  the  block  between  Fifteenth  and  Sixteenth 
streets  just  east  of  Union  Square. 

As  for  the  Eighth  Regiment  Armory — stand- 
ing commandingly  on  a  brave  crest  of  rock  be- 
tween the  East  River  and  the  valley  in  which  an- 
ciently were  the  head -waters  of  Harlem  Creekr 
and  regnant  over  all  this  portion  of  the  town — it 
is  so  noble  a  structure  that  only  its  accessibility 
saves  it  from  becoming  a  place  of  pilgrimage  and 
from  acquiring  an  honorable  renown.  After  the 
Palace  of  the  Popes,  the  chief  building  in  Avign- 
on is  the  Castle  of  Saint  Andre,  over  in  the  Ville- 
Neuve.  Travellers  journey  far  that  they  may  see 
this  castle,  and  its  fame  is  spread  over  the  world. 
But  here  at  our  very  doors  is  almost  its  counter- 
part— only  on  a  far  grander  scale  :  the  New  York 
castle  is  fully  twice  as  big  as  the  castle  at  Ville 
Neuve  d'Avignon — and  there  are  thousands  of 
New-Yorkers  who  do  not  even  know  that  it  exists ! 

In  the  same  latitude  as  the  Park  Avenue  shan- 
ties, but  in  a  longitude  about  one  minute  farther 
west — that  is  to  say,  near  the  intersection  of  the 


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NEW   AND    OLD    NEW    YORK  277 

Bloomingdale  Road  with  Ninety-eighth  Street — 
the  process  of  burying  a  whole  row  of  wooden 
houses  in  the  heart  of  a  city  block  now  is  in  prog- 
ress :  the  same  process  that  was  completed  when 
the  erection  of  the  brick  dwellings  on  Seventeenth 
Street  shut  in  Paisley  Place,  forty  or  more  years 
ago. 

Nowadays  the  Bloomingdale  Road  is  called 
the  Boulevard — an  exquisitely  absurd  name  for  a 
street  which  has  no  more  to  do  with  fortifications, 
actual  or  extinct,  than  it  has  to  do  with  the  moon. 
On  its  western  side,  between  the  lines  of  the  pres- 
ent Ninety-second  and  Ninety-sixth  streets,  there 
was  a  hamlet  of  a  dozen  houses  in  the  early  years 
of  the  present  century ;  and  near  by,  on  the  act- 
ual line  of  the  present  Ninety-ninth  Street,  stood 
St.  Michael's  Church.  Some  of  these  buildings 
still  survive.  Within  the  same  limits  many  simi- 
lar buildings — modest  framed  structures  of  two 
stories,  with  a  gabled  attic ;  and  here  and  there  a 
more  pretentious  dwelling  of  the  villa  type — have 
been  erected  in  later  times;  and,  as  yet,  the  mod- 
ern brick  houses  are  few.  Thus  are  reproduced 
in  this  region  conditions  almost  identical  with 
the  conditions  which  obtained  sixty  years  ago  in 
the  open,  rolling  country  south  of  Greenwich  Vil- 
lage— between,  say,  the  present  Leroy  and  Spring 
streets — before  the  chain  of  hills  known  as  the 
Zandtberg  was  levelled,  and  while  all  that  beauti- 
ful country-side  was  dotted  with  trig  little  houses 
over  which  dominated  such  grand  country-seats 
as  Tusculum  and  Richmond  Hill. 


278  IN    OLD    NEW    YORK 

It  is  a  part  of  this  scattered  settlement  that 
now  is  in  process  of  hiding:  the  row  of  wooden 
houses  standing  in  a  narrow  court  extending  south 
from  Ninety-eighth  Street  just  west  of  the  Tenth 
Avenue — which  court  is  a  remnant  of  what  once 
was  a  lane  running  parallel  with  the  Blooming- 
dale  Road.  Already  the  enclosing  wall  to  the 
eastward  has  been  erected,  the  solid  line  of  houses 
on  the  Tenth  Avenue;  and  to  the  south  the  Ro- 
man Catholic  Church  of  the  Holy  Name  of  Jesus, 
now  building  on  Ninety-seventh  Street,  soon  will 
cut  off  another  side.  When  Ninety-eighth  Street 
and  the  absurd  "Boulevard  "shall  have  been  built 
upon,  the  cordon  will  be  complete.  And  then,  if 
the  little  houses  in  the  meantime  live  on — and, 
as  they  appear  to  be  owned  in  severalty,  this 
very  well  may  happen — the  buried  Paisley  Place 
at  Seventeenth  Street  and  the  Sixth  Avenue  will 
have  an  exact  antitype  four  miles  away  to  the 
north. 

Each  of  the  localities  to  which  attention  here 
has  been  drawn  has  individual  features,  but  all  of 
them  are  typical.  They  are  representative  in  the 
present  of  processes  which  we  are  disposed  to 
associate  in  our  thoughts,  but  very  erroneously, 
wholly  with  the  past.  Actually,  to  describe  how 
New  York  grew  is  only  another  way  of  describing 
how  New  York  grows :  as  may  be  proved  to  the 
satisfaction  of  any  person  possessing  serviceable 
le^s  who  will  go  a-walking  in  the  upper  portions 
of  this  island  with  open  eyes. 


INDEX 


Abingdon,  Earl  of,  112. 

Road,  named,  113. 
ref.,  152. 
traced,  156. 
"  west  end,  164. 

Square,  1 13. 
Adams,  John,  dinner,  204. 
Allerton's  storehouses,  16. 
American  Quarter,  148,  224. 
Amherst,  Gen.  Lord,  204. 
Amity  Lane,  49. 
Aquarium,  The,  235. 
Armory,  270,  274. 
Arms  of  New  York,  1682,  26. 
Arsenal,  Madison  Sq.,  123. 
Artemision,  250. 
Art  Street,  ref.,  118,  261. 
Astor  Library,  ref.,  262. 

"     Place,  ref.,  261. 
Asylum  Street,  137. 
Atlantic  Garden,  257. 

Bank  Street,  146. 
Barberrie's  Garden,  254. 
Barker,  Jacob,  151. 
"Baron"  Poelnitz,  123. 
Battery,  Southwest,  235. 

The,  primitive,  232. 
"      site,  227. 

Walk,  236. 
Bayard's  Mount,  258. 


Bayard,  William,  117. 
Beaver's  Path,  8. 

"      ref.,  240. 
Bellomont,  Lord,  34. 
Benzon,  Counsellor,  206. 
Beth  Haim,  146,  160. 
Black  Ball  Packets,,  70. 
Bleecker  Street,  137. 
Blunt's  Guide,  quoted,  245. 
Bogardus  farm,  192. 
Bolting  Act,  1678,  24. 
Boodling,  early,  93. 
Borrowson's  Garden,  ref.,  133, 

203. 
Bossen  Bouerie,  85. 
Boss-mason's  house,  164. 
Bowling  Green,  xef.,  240,  251. 
"      Garden,  258. 

"     ref.,  2ii, 

254. 
Brand-master,  20. 

Brannan's  Garden,  214,  257. 

Brevoort,  Henry,  147. 

Bridewell,  The,  242. 

Broad  Street,  8. 

Broadway,  7. 

"  cow-bars,  201,  217. 

"  poplar-trees,  111. 

Buchanan,  Dr.,  197. 
Burling,  Samuel,  ill. 
Burnaby,  quoted,  153,  215. 


28o 


INDEX 


Burns's  coffee-house,  257. 
Burr,  Aaron,  206. 
Burr-Hamilton  duel,  206. 
Burrow's  Street,  137. 
Byram's  Garden,  257. 

Cage,  The,  242. 
Canal  St.  deep  canal,  68. 
"      "    Park,  226. 
"      "    site  of,  193. 
i  apske,  The,  236. 
Cartwright,  Colonel,  231. 
tie  Clinton,  235. 
Garden,  235,  240. 
ref.,  257.  • 
Catimut's  Hill,  254. 
Chaises,  Italian,  215. 
Charter  of  liberties,  etc.,  6. 
<  barters  of  New  York,  24,  27. 
Chelsea,  Capt.  Clarke's,  167. 
44        Cottages,  172. 
dead  as,  167. 
fired  on,  170. 
"        Square,  176. 
44         Village  founded,  1 71. 
Cherisiphon,  250. 
Cherry  Garden,  253. 
Cholera  hospital,  1832,  249. 
Christiansen,  Hendrick,  I. 
Christopher  Street,  113. 
Churches: 

St.  Antonio  di  Padua,  225. 
St.  John,  218,  220,  223. 
St.  Luke,  147. 
St.  Michael,  277. 
St.  Peter,  179. 
Trinity,  burned,  46. 

"       estate,  37, 192,  224. 
Church  Farm,  37,  192,  224. 
Cingle,  The,  11. 
City  Hall,  1724,  241. 
44       •«     Park,  242. 


City  Tavern,  1653,  12. 
Clarke,  Capt.  Thomas,  167. 

44       estate,  lane  to,  154. 

44       Gov.,  quoted,  138,  234. 

44       Mrs.  Molly,  168. 
Clinton,  Castle,  235,  239. 
Coke,  quoted,  33. 
Collect  (Kalch-hook),  53. 
Commerce,  1678,  1694,  25. 
44  circa  1 700,  35. 

1789,  1801,  50. 
1806,  1812,63,  68. 
1824,  50. 
Commercial  advantages,  69, 
Commissioners'  Plan,  55. 
Contoit's  Garden,  257. 
Cooke,  R.  D.,  note,  119. 
Corn's  Garden,  257. 

"        ref.,  133. 
Cortelyou's  map,  1653,  14. 
Cow-bars  on  Broadway,  201, 2 17. 
Cow-bells,  201. 
Cow-pastures,  201. 
Cows  and  the  Fort,  228. 
Cox,  Dr.  Samuel,  224. 
Cozine  Street,  137. 
Creditors,  improvident,  244. 
Cruger,  John,  32. 
Cunningham,  Provost,  242. 

Debtors,  1788,  243. 
Debtors'  prison,  241,  245. 
44  4<      limits,  245. 

relief  of,  244. 
Delacroix,  258,  261. 
De  Lancey,  Ol.,  117,  151. 
Square,  44. 
44  Susannah,  105. 

De  Voe,  quoted,  144,  188. 
Diana,  Temple  of,  250. 
Dominie's  Bouerie,  192. 
44  Hook,  192. 


INDEX 


28l 


Dongan  charter,  1686,  27. 

"       Governor,  quoted,  231. 
Drover's  Inn,  38. 
Duke's  Plan,  The,  14. 
Dutch  recapture,  1673,  24. 

West  India  Co.,  2,  21. 


<< 


Eleventh  Street,  147. 
Eliot  estate,  123. 
Embargo,  The,  63. 
English  Conquest,  1664,  23. 
"        evacuation,  1783,  46. 
"        occupation,  1776,  45. 
Ephesus,  Temple  of,  250. 
Episcopal  Seminary,  176. 
Ericsson,  John,  220. 
Erie  Canal,  74. 

"       "      celebration,  76. 
Evacuation  Day,  1783,  46. 

Fields,  The,  242. 
Fire  of  1835,  80. 
Fires  of  1776,  1778,  46. 
Fitzroy,  Charles,  III. 

M        Road,  named,  113. 
"      ref.,  152. 
traced,  181. 
Fletcher,  Governor,  34. 
Flour-trade,  1678,  24. 
vVFort  Amsterdam,  4. 
"    James,  2r. 
"    Manhattan,  1. 

"    The,  1,  5. 

"       "     and  cows,  228. 

"       "    surrendered,  1664,  21. 
Fourth  Avenue  tunnel,  164. 
Frederick,  Kryn,  5. 
Fresh  Water  Pond,  drained,  53. 

Gallows,  City  Hall  Park,  242. 
"         Washington  Sq.,  130. 
Gansevoort  Street,  118,  152. 


Garden,  Castle,  235,  240. 
Gardens,  mead,  133. 

public,  208,  253,  254, 
257,  258. 
Gassner,  Peter,  quoted,  133. 
Governor's  Island,  headquarters, 

240. 
Great  Kiln  Road,  118,  152,  154. 
"       ref.,  182,  184. 
Great  Square,  The,  42. 
Greenwich  Avenue,  114. 
Lane,  118. 
Road,  117. 

opened,  40. 
11       ref.,  152. 
Village,  crooked,  84. 
founded,  go. 
healthful, 
138. 
"       named,  96. 

stages  to,  1 29. 
"       Prison,  126. 
Greenwich  Village,  Upper  and 

Lower,  126. 
Grove  Street,  137. 
Guernsey,  quoted,  239. 

Hall's  stage  line,  129. 
Hammond,  Abijah,  117. 

"  Street,  146. 

Hangingin  Washington  Sq. ,  130. 
Hardie,  quoted,  144. 
Harisse,  Henry,  ref.,  16. 
Harlem  Flat,  61. 

"       marsh,  ref.,  270. 
Heere  Graft,  11. 

"      Straat,  8. 
Hell  Gate,  ref.,  273. 
Herring  Street,  137. 
Hudson  Square,  220. 

Italian  chaises,  215. 


282 


INDEX 


<  t 


Jail,  Greenwich,  126. 

44     New,  1764,  242,  246. 

44     Provost,  243. 
Jans,  Annetje,  note,  37. 
Jauncey,  James,  117. 
Jew  grave-yards,  146,  160. 
Jones's  Garden,  212. 

Kennedy  house,  106. 
King's  Arms  Tavern,  257. 

44      Farm,  37,  192. 
Kissing  Bridge,  first,  153,  252. 
44      ref.,  215. 
second,  152. 
Krieger's  Tavern,  251,  257. 

Labadist  journal,  quoted,  90. 
Lambert,  John,  quoted,  63,  140. 
Leaseholds,  41,  124,  224. 
Lee,  Senator,  151. 
44  Lepner's  "  meadows,  201. 
Leverett,  General,  231. 
Lispenard,  Leonard,  192. 

44  44    marries,  198. 

Lispenard's  meadows,  198. 
Liverpool  packets,  70. 
London  Terrace,  172. 
Love  Lane,  153. 
Lownds,  44  Pappy,"  246. 

Madison  Sq.    Arsenal,  123. 
44     Parade,  60. 
44     Potter's  Field, 
120. 
Maiden  Lane,  ref.,  240. 
Manetta  Creek,  86. 

Water,  218,  219. 
Manhattan,  Fort,  1. 
Maps,  text  referring  to: 
1639,  Vingboons,  note,  16. 
1653,  Cortelyou's,  14. 
1664, 44  The  Duke's  Plan,"  14 


Maps,  text  referring  to: 
1695,  26. 
1727,  Lyne's,  36. 
1755,  Maerschalk's,  38. 
1767,  Ratzen's,  42. 
1782,  Hill's,  44. 
1803,  Mangin's,  49,  55. 
18 1 1,  The  Commissioners',  56. 
Marselus,  quoted,  146. 
Mason's  house,  164. 
Mead  gardens,  133. 
Milligan's  Lane,  146. 
Minetta  Creek,  course  of,  86. 
44      ref.,  202. 
44       Water,  203. 
see  Manetta. 
Montgomery  charter,  1730,  27. 
Monument  Lane,  42,  118. 
44      ref.,  261. 
Wolfe,  118,  119. 
Moore,  Clement  C,  170,  171. 

gift  of,  176. 
Moore  estate,  170,  171. 
Moor  Street,  19. 
Mortier,  Abraham,  203. 
Mount  Vernon  Garden,  257. 

N\gro  Plot,  1 741,  33. 
New  Amsterdam  founded,  3. 
v  York  named,  1664,  21. 
Niblo's  Garden,  257. 
Nicolls  Charter,  1665,  24. 
Nicolls,  Richard,  23.  m 

Obelisk,  The,  118,  120. 

Old  Grapevine  Tavern,  ref., 216. 

Old  Wreck  Brook,  16. 

Packet  ships,  70. 
Paine,  Tom,  133. 
Paisley  Place,  187. 

44  '        44      ref.,  266,  278. 


INDEX 


283 


Panic  of  1836-37,  81. 

Parade,  Madison  Sq.,  60. 

Park,  Battery,  236. 
"      Canal  St.,  226. 
"       City  Hall,  242. 

Patroons,  6. 

Peaches,  Van  Dyke's,  20. 

Pearl  Street,  7. 

Pillory,  242. 
^Piracy,  circa  1692,  33. 

Poelnitz,  "  Baron,"  123. 

Poor-house,  1735,  242. 

Poplar-trees,  III. 
^-Population,  circa  1627,  5. 
"  1661,  19. 


1700,  31. 
1732,  36. 

circa  1783,47. 
1788,  47- 
1789-1801,  53. 
1820,  69. 
1825,  81. 
Post-office  at  Greenwich,  144. 
Potter's  Field,  Madison  Sq.,120 
"  "     Washington  Sq. 

69. 
Prison,  see  jail. 
Privateering,  1690,  34. 
1812,  67. 
Provost  jail,  243. 
Prophet  Daniel,  ship,  32. 


Reason  Street,  137. 

Records,  Hall  of,  241,  246,  250. 

"Refreshments     and    drinks," 

239- 
Register's  office,  246. 

Register-ship,  100. 

Rhinelander  farm,  270. 

Richmond   Hill,  203,  208,  218. 

"  "     leased  to  Burr, 

206. 
Riker,  Recorder,  249. 
Road,  unrecorded,  183. 
Roads,  early,  7-13. 
Round-up  of  cattle,  20. 
Rutgers,  A.,  death,  212. 

"  homestead,     211, 

214. 

"  ^petition,  194. 


Raisin  Street,  137. 
Ranelagh  Garden,  first,  211, 

"  ref.,254. 
"  "        second,  214. 

Randall,  Captain  R.  R.,  123.  x% 

"         homestead,  219. 
Randel,  John  Jun.,  quoted,  57, 

133,  218. 
Real-estate  values,  1689,  26. 

1730,  36- 


Sacket,  Richard,  253. 
s«-Sailors'  Snug  Harbor,  T23. 

ref.,  219. 
St.  Antonio  di  Padua,  ch.,  225. 
St.    John's     church,    218,    220, 

223. 
St.  John's  "Kitchen,"  224. 

"         Park,  220. 
St.'  Luke's  church,  147. 
St.  Michael's     "      277. 
St.  Peter's  "       179. 

Sappokanican,  85,  89. 
Scotch  weavers,  187. 
Seminary,  Theological,  176. 
Shandy,  Captain,  cited,  167. 
Sheep  Pasture,  The,  8. 
Ship-building,  circa  1700,  36. 
Shipping,  1678,  25. 
1694,  25. 

I730,  39- 
1789-1801,  53. 
1806-1812,  63. 
"  1812,  70. 


284 


INDEX 


Skating,  202. 
Skinner  Road,  113. 

William,  112. 
Slave-trade,  32. 
Small-pox,  early,  48. 

1739.  138. 
Snug  Harbor,  Sailors',  123. 

ref.,219. 
Southampton,  Baron,  112. 
Road,  154. 
"     named,  113. 
"        ref.,    159, 

266. 
"     traced,  184, 
191. 
South  Street,  48. 
Sperry,  Jacob,  258. 
Stages,  Greenwich,  129. 
Staple-rights,  6. 
State  Prison,  Greenwich,  126. 
Stocks,  The,  242. 
Stone  Bridge,  The,  202. 
"     Storehouses,  The,  19. 
Street,  7. 
Streets,  early,  7. 
Stuyvesant,  Gov.,  quoted,  228. 
Swallow-tail  Packets,  70. 
Swamp,  Canal  St.,  194. 
The,  16,  53. 
Washington  Sq.,  202. 


<< 

<  i 


Tea-water  spring,  252. 
Theological  Seminary,  176. 
Torrey,  William,  172. 
Trinity  church,  burned,  46. 

estate,   37*,  192, 
224. 
Tunnel,  Fourth  Avenue,  164. 
Turtle  Bay,  ref.,  216. 

"      feasts,  215. 
Tusculum,  219. 

*'  ref.,  277. 


Tyler's  Garden,  ref.,  133. 

Union  Road,  119. 
Square,  60. 
United  New  Netherland  Co.,  1. 

Van  Dyke's  peaches,  20. 
Van  Nest,  Abraham,  in,  117. 
Van  Twiller's  farm,  89. 
Varick  homestead,  219. 
Vauxhall  Garden,  208,  258. 
"        ref.,  254- 
Verplanck,  quoted,  205,  206. 
Vingboons's  map,  1639,  16. 

Wall,  city,  1653,  II. 

"     Street,  11. 
Warren,  Admiral,  96. 

children,  112. 
epitaph,    104. 
married,  105. 
estate,  154. 

"     partitioned,  113- 
farm,  105. 
homestead,  107. 

"      destroyed,   117. 
Road,  155. 

traced,  184. 
Washington    and    Mrs.  Clarke, 

169. 
Washington  Sq.,  circa  1630,  93. 
"      1824,  69. 

gallows,  130. 
"      marsh,  202. 
"      Potter's  Field, 

F20. 
Water-ways,  70. 
Weaver's  Row,  The,  187. 
Webber's  Tavern,  19,  252. 
,  Wessel's  Tavern,  251. 
West  India  Co.,  2,  21. 
trade,  35. 


INDEX 


2*5 


Nyet  Docks,  The,  27. 
Wetmore,  quoted,  187. 
Whipping-post,  242. 

Yellow-fever,  1703,  1742,  M3- 
"  circa  1807,  140. 


Yellow-fever,  1822,  144. 
early,  48. 
"  negroes  and,  140. 

Zandtberg,  The,  203,  207. 


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